Fortressbound
by Hunter the Pyro
Summary: Nine mercenaries find themselves very far from their cozy home of Earth after a teleportation experiment with Dell Conagher and a strange alien go wrong. Now, 2Fort itself is teleported to Alternia, a new world with strange, merciless creatures. The mercenaries will have to survive and adapt if they want to go home.
1. Act 1 Act 1 Part 1

**Crap, I'm actually gonna do this. I've been planning to do this crossover for a while now, and today I might as well do my best. **

**Act I - Fortress**

**A1A1**

* * *

Your name is Dell Conagher. You're the Engineer of the RED Team. It stands for Reliable Excavation and Demolition, but there's no hiding the company owner held a favoring for anything red. You're one of nine dedicated mercenaries working for the company in an insanely pointless war known as the Gravel Wars. And, despite barely having clear television, your company manages to develop extremely advanced technology, including invisibility watches, borderline immortality with the 'Respawn' revival system, the medi gun, and materials needed for you to make your own personal buildings for combat. All thanks to some mysterious element known as Australium, which is immensely powerful. The only rule (from a small contract of 4,205 rules of working here) is that you don't share any information you think someone else should not know about, with Australium and the location of bases being at the top of that list. Speaking of Australium, you were just in the process of replacing the Australium core of one of your older buildings when a beep sounded behind you.

Oh, damn, someone's messaging you again. It was Scout's idea to be more social, and despite him meaning it more sarcastically than the team figured, they all ended up getting this thing called Pesterchum, and eventually you did too. After a while, you couldn't mentally handle the idiotic rambling of your teammates on the chat, and branched out to talk to other chums. So far, no one else on the thing was really interesting, save for one user that had a very strange way of typing. Despite this, you two both shared a passion for computers and electronics, and have been talking to each other after battles nonstop.

As it turned out, it was that person in particular who was pestering you, or "trolling," as the system said for just this user. It was odd, but you chose to ignore it. Maybe there was a way of changing what it said, but you weren't in the mood to try looking. Instead, you put down the grease-coated frame of your Mini-Sentry, and sat at your computer.

_twinArmageddons [TA]_ _has started_ _trolling_ _baconRobotics [BR]_

You smirked to yourself at seeing your Pesterchum tag. There were literally an infinite amount of other names for you to come up with, but you couldn't help but punch it into the keyboard. After all, it was the internet.

TA: hey

TA: 2tiill fiightiing?

BR: No, don't worry, I'm here.

TA: ok good. ii wa2 wonderiing iif one of your fiight2 were takiing longer than u2ual

BR: Nah, you were right on time. 8:30 PM sharp. Not bad for the whole issue with time zones.

TA: ii told you alterniia ha2 a completely diifferent orbiit than earth. fuck you remember how long iit took for me two explaiin 2weep2 compared two earth year2

BR: Yeah, I remember clear as day.

You weren't that surprised when you found out TA was an alien. You mean, yes, it's a goddamn _ALIEN_, but the way he talked, the way he explained things, it just wasn't how people talk. Heck, the kid even had proof, using something called an 'appearifier' to teleport organic matter from his planet to you by your request. It was similar to clay and somewhat-dirt, but some of it was made of elements you knew didn't exist on Earth. A small part of it was a dark, dull red, smooth rock TA said was something called Alternium. After a lot of time and stress on trying to put it to use, you were able to implement it as a power source in your base. That small chunk of rock was put in months ago, and it's barely been consumed at all. It's infinitely more resourceful than the golden bars from down under.

TA: 2hiit, we are gettiing way two off topiic

TA: ii wanted to giive you a report on how the teleporter ii2 goiing

BR: Oh, great! How's progress so far?

TA: well, 2o far iit work2 fiine teleportiing object2 anywhere 2peciifiied wiithout an exiit 2tructure

TA: a2 long a2 iit2 not two far away iin 2pace and tiime

TA: and 2iince our tiimeliine2 are matched and ii dont try talkiing two you iin the pa2t or future liike kk

TA: your planet ii2 ju2t iin2iide the range iit can reach

BR: That's great!

BR: Hell, that's more than great for a first try at a machine!

TA: well you can thank my friiend equiiu2 for the 2tructure iit2elf

TA: he fiigured out how to actually make iit ba2ed off the modiifiied bluepriint2 you u2e two make your buiildiing

BR: Damn, that reminds me.

BR: Spy told me to thank you for the new sapper program.

BR: Darn thing completely wipes the building clean of all data and function, much faster than his old sapper.

TA: that wa2 nothiing really

TA: anyway2, 2hould ii try appeariifyiing iit for you two try?

BR: Nah, we should hold that. Don't wanna break anything for no reason.

BR: Anyways, I have to go. Someone else is bothering me on this godforsaken Pesterchum.

TA: alriight, we can try tomorrow

BR: Farewell.

_twinArmageddons [TA] has ceased trolling baconRobotics [BR]_

You close out of that chat to see another one blinking. What could _HE_ possibly want right now?

_bucketsAnonymous [BA] has started pestering_ _baconRobotics_

BA: CONAGHER.

BR: What.

BA: WAS THAT A QUESTION OR ARE YOU BEING SNIPPY WITH ME, MAGGOT?

BR: Jane, you're right across the hall from where I am. If you want to talk, just walk in now.

BA: DONT YOU DARE THINK YOU CAN USE YOUR FUCKING TEXAS MIND TRICKS TO FOOL ME. I THOUGHT I WAS CLEAR WHEN I SAID NEVER TO CALL ME THAT AS WELL.

BR: Slip of the tongue.

BA: I DO NOT CARE. TEAM MEETING IN THE MESS HALL AT 2359 HOURS SHARP. DO YOU UNDERSTAND MAGGOT?

BR: Soldier, you promised you'd never do your pre-midnight meetings several months ago.

BR: Plus, making the meeting one minute before midnight doesn't really qualify it to be 'pre-midnight.'

BA: WE CAN TALK AT THE MEETING. I EXPECT YOU TO BE THERE AS AN AMERICAN AND SHOW UP ON TIME.

_bucketsAnonymous [BA] has ceased pestering baconRobotics [BR]_

Soldier isn't meant for this stupid program. He thinks it's like a memo board or a notice system, and consistently sends out meeting times for the stupidest things just because he figured out how to. One day you're going to find a way to permanently block his client, or at least make an AI to automatically respond to him. Funny enough, you expected to end up blocking Scout first, but he's probably the most reasonable one in a chat next to you.

After finishing working on your Mini-Sentry and whatnot, you headed down to the mess hall. You didn't bother changing out of your overalls, not that it mattered. Everyone was used to your uniform, if anything you'd look odd without a couple grease smudges or worn clothes. Once there, you see some of your teammates have arrived already. Misha, your team's Heavy Weapons guy, sat on a couch, taking up most of the space, cleaning his favorite minigun Sasha. Tavish DeGroot, the team's demolitions expert, was sober for once, watching TV on the remaining one-third of the couch, while the Scout, Travis, chatted away about whatever movie was playing. The Demoman nodded in your way, looking uncomfortable, and you give him a sympathetic smile back. Your Spy, François, was leaning on the wall, fiddling with his cigarette case. Hidden in it were 9 masks of the enemy mercenaries, which he used to blend in with them. It sounds stupid, and you brought it up before with the frenchman, but he proved its effectiveness by wearing one and smiling at your probably shocked face as he morphed into an exact copy of you. He even mimicked your voice perfectly.

You never asked about his disguises after that.

What surprised you though was that Soldier was missing. Odds are he was messaging everyone else about the meeting. You still had no idea what the hell it was for anyway. Sighing, you grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the opposite couch, watching the movie with the others. Odds are Soldier wants to 'discuss' battle tactics, which is pretty much him yelling what you all do wrong and that you should listen to him to win battles more.

"FALL IN, MEN." a deep voice boomed through the hallways, and you jumped almost a foot off the couch. You could tell why he types in all capital letters. You walked over to the dining table, which was long enough to hold twenty people. Jane was standing at attention on the opposite end of the table, his helmet over his eyes, probably 'watching' as you all walked in. Slowly, the other missing mercs began filing in, ending with David, the team's Pyro. Despite spending every second of the day in a suit, you thought he was pretty cool. He was, after all, and had quite a few talents you guys never knew about him. Especially after finding turntables under his bed.

"MEN, I THINK AT LEAST ONE OF YOU KNOW WHY WE ARE HERE," the Soldier yelled, finally breaking his posture as the Pyro sat next to you. "Actually, no, Doe, we don't," you replied, readjusting your goggles. "There's a lot of things it could be." He chuckled at you, giving you an odd glare behind his helmet. "Ohhh no, there's only one thing it could be," he said, pulling a rock out of his pocket before slamming it down on the table. "You're DECORATING WITHOUT PERMISSION, ENGINEER."

It was a small red rock, that was somewhat glowing. He found the Alternium somehow. "I found THIS while I was doing my daily PATROL!" It was amazing how he managed to remove the Alternium from the core you put it in, and how plain stupid he was, but there was another question that was bothering you now. "Hey, Jane, what's running the-"

The power immediately went out as you silently cursed to yourself. You had to fix it now, being the only one to understand any of it. You grabbed the alien mass of rock, smacked Doe in the back of the head, and you head down to the generator using the light on your helmet. You swear, there's days you wonder why you took the job.

* * *

**Dell: Be someone else**


	2. Act 1 Act 1 Part 2

**Wow, reviews are promising!**

**Shame there isn't a faster way to view crossovers. Maybe show a crossover in both sections the story's based in rather than in separate xover categories :P**

**Act I: Fortress**

**A1A2**

**Dell: Be someone else**

* * *

You are now Travis Morrow. Good thing, too, because you have absolutely no idea how to fix a generator that runs off a rock. It doesn't matter, Dell could fix almost anything in the building. As long as he was here, RED was all set.

Slowly, the backup generator turned on, bathing the room in a red glow. You sneaked away with Dell's beer, walking back to your room. As the Scout of RED Team, you felt it was your job to keep everything looking as badass as possible. Your room was littered with Red Sox posters, Patriots stickers, a wall of your sick weapons, and another wall of your sick hats and accessories. You eyed your Boston Basher, and gave it a mini-salute. This thing, which was a bat with spikes nailed into it, was your best freakin' weapon. After one match with it you started counting how many kills you made with it, and you're close to 8500 kills today. Almost worthy of Saxton Hale himself.

Jumping on your bed, you looked to the opposite end of the room. This half was the Pyro's room, and it wasn't hard to tell which went to who. It had Yankees posters, vinyl records, and posters with sick beats everywhere. You had to admit, Pyro was awesome for his epic music, but the Yankees poster was a dead no. You will never. Ever. Like. The Yankees. You look at his turntables sitting on his bed. Ever since you found it looking around for proof Pyro was a monster, he gave up giving it a hiding place, and left it out often after dropping godly beats. But he always seems to know when someone touches it. Like Misha, except that bald bastard could chew you up with his minigun while Pyro probably can't. It's those damn fire axes he loves you worry about. He even named them a "Pile of Unbelievably Shitty Axes."

Maybe... since he's not here... you could touch...-

BAM!

The door flung open just as you reached for the turntables, the firebug staring you down through black lenses. "Don't even try it," he muffled, before closing the door. That will be the LAST time you try to touch those you guess. Instead, you looked around at his other stuff. Other than the turntables, weapons, music and Yankee posters, any thing else the Pyro owned was out of irony. You stopped to pick up a DVD case of what had to be the strangest cartoon you've ever heard of. It was called Attack on Titan, but on the case it was Shina-somethingsomethingbullshit. Again, it was owned for pure ironic purposes. Other than that, you two could practically be brothers. He's been trying to teach you how to flashstep, but it's like he teleports or somethin'. Whatever, in your opinion he probably cheats or something. Illusions or some ironic bullshit.

Which is funny, because few know your love for hacking. After all, you gave Spy a custom made Sapper last Smissmass and everyone was more than surprised it actually worked. For at least a couple days until Spy got blown up and you forgot the Sapper wasn't linked with Respawn. Whatever, you rushed that thing like five or six minutes before the party. In your opinion it was crappy. Everything you've coded up in your opinion was crap, even though a lot of it helped lead to Respawn, AI in the sentries, and the new 'Toast' setting on the oven.

You went under your bed to pull out a mini fridge you snuck out of Engi's workshop. In it was some pretty damn good food, but eventually it was filled with Bonk! cans once you devoured everything in it. You knew it'd be stupid to ask him for more, he'd know you stole it, so instead you keep a fresh stock of Bonk! in there at all times. You have all the flavors. All of them. Even Blueberry, even though it was meant to be diet or something with the big '20% MORE ISOTOPES!' sticker on the cans. You grabbed an Atomic Cherry, closed the fridge and put it in its home, and sucked down the drink. Cherry was personally the best one, and you could argue for hours over it. Luckily (for others), you have yet to be asked about the topic, so you don't have to douse them in wicked wisdom.

Something started buzzing in your pocket, so you crushed the can and tossed it in the makeshift trash bucket, and pulled your phone out. This thing appeared out of nowhere one day, and after a while you began to get the hang of using it. It even came with Pesterchum, which you sarcastically recommended to your teammates. Oh, great, this guy. You thought at first it was Soldier trying to prank you, but that dumbass definitely didn't come up with the retorts this guy used, along with cheesy alien references. Like you would believe they were an alien. Whatever, you decided to respond and see what he'll come up with, whoever the hell it was.

_carnicoGeneticist [CG] has started trolling atomicBasher [AB]_

CG: HEY, FUCKASS

AB: ladedadaa... oh hello

CG: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

AB: i was thinkin about giving a shit but then remembered i couldnt care enough to

CG: HA HA. SOOO FUCKING HILARIOUS, I'M LAUGHING SO HARD RIGHT NOW

CG: BUT I SHOULD BRING UP SOMETHING A FUCKTON MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR FAKE FAYGO CAN CONTAINER

AB: what? oh you mean my bonk fridge. its fuckin awesome dude

CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP

CG: ANYWAYS, ONE OF YOU SHITS HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH MY FRIEND TO MAKE SOME FUCKED UP KIND OF SPINNING APPEARIFIER

AB: you see normal people just say teleporter

AB: here, lets say it together

AB: te-le-port-er

CG: I JUST SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP

AB: anyways, assuming youre talking about our engineer, how could he work with a friend of yours

AB: i thought you were an alien

CG: WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HUMANS SO FUCKING STUPID

AB: fuckin what bitch?

CG: HEY

CG: SHUT UP FUCKASS

AB: sorry. please continue since im so interested now

CG: I NEED YOU TO CONVINCE YOUR 'ENGINEER' TO NEVER SPEAK WITH TA AGAIN

AB: fuck no man

AB: do you have any idea how much robot ass we kick with the shit ta teleported to us

AB: and now we have glowing red rocks he sent to power our base

AB: now i plan on painting my scattergun with some spare australium we have now

AB: that shit looks fuckin good on it

CG: I SEE WORDS BUT EVERYTHING THEY SAY IS BITCHY SHIT

CG: DID YOU NOT GET ANYTHING I WAS SAYING

AB: ha, dude youre funny

AB: we could be good friends one day. creepy 'totally an alien' guy and badass travis

AB: bitchin it out with bonk

AB: maybe we could bring pyro along

AB: fire king in a suit

AB: not the shit for old coots

AB: motherfucker lights it up

AB: bringin home the 2fort cup

CG: FUCKING STOP

CG: PLEASE YOU ARE SO FUCKING ANNOYING

AB: sorry

AB: honestly i was just saying random lines from some of pyro's raps he has everywhere

AB: the dude's a fuckin saint

CG: I KNOW

AB: really?

CG: NO. I MEAN, HE SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE I KNOW

CG: WHO IS A WORTHLESS FUCK

AB: i dunno, anyone like pyro gets the badass medal in my standards

CG: WHATEVER

CG: JUST TELL YOUR FRIEND TO LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE

_carnicoGeneticist [CG] has stopped trolling atomicBasher [AB]_

You had to stifle a laugh to that one. That was pretty funny. You didn't even try to make up that bullshit rap, it wasn't even ironically good. The emergency lights shut off temporarily before the main lights flickered to life. Whatever power that tiny rock could have apparently was enough to be the main power core. You still aren't sure what the hell Soldier was thinking taking anything out of the generator room. When it came to Dell, almost anything could be a power supply by the next morning.

Speaking of, you hopped off your bed and decided to take a walk to Dell's workshop. Since the asshole apparently knew him, maybe you could ask Engie if he knows who they are.

* * *

**Travis: Be the asshole**


	3. Act 1 Act 1 Part 3

**Act I: Fortress**

**A1A2**

**Introducing the first female of the story**

**Travis: Be the asshole**

* * *

You cannot be the asshole already. Did you really think that'd happen only two chapters in? I am disappointed. That's one line in the serious room for you.

**[]: Go to the serious room**

* * *

Good, I hope you've learned from this.

**[]: Be Heavy Weapons Guy**

* * *

You are now Misha Demetris, Heavy Weapons Guy. You came from Siberia with a Phd. in Russian Literature, but act like the dumb guy. You've discovered that if you act like the dumb one and everyone talks to you thinking you're too stupid to remember, you learn a lot about people. Things like Soldier's obsessions, which make sense considering he was poorer than dirt. Or Scout's fear of the dark and zombies. Or Demoman's plans on getting sober. But, you don't mind their opinions of you. You only do this for your family. As long as they have money and protection, you're fine with what you do for the job.

After the power returned, you went back to cleaning Sasha, your minigun. Poor thing, a Soldier got to her last match, and the barrels have started to spin unevenly. You'll have to fix that before next round tomorrow. But other than that, you take exceptional care of her. Not a single scratch, dent, or scrape lasts a day on your precious Sasha.

Just as you place Sasha back on her place on your wall, someone knocks on your door. Three sharp, small knocks, typically Travis. "Is open," you say, turning to see the Scout opening the door. You learned fast to never leave your door locked when Jane is around, when he tries getting in he uses his rocket launcher as a masterkey. "Ah, hey," the Bostonian stammers a lot talking to you. He knows how smart you really are, and is always worried you'd pull some mind trick in a conversation to get him to actually talk about himself. Not that you try to, you're just naturally curious about your comrades. "I was just wonderin' if ya knew where Engie was."

"Dell?" you replied. "No, no I have not heard from him. Was off fixing power, yes?" To which Travis nodded his head. "Well maybe leetle Scout should check generator room. Dell is still there most likely."

"Alright, thanks Heavy," he said, and quickly left. You thought that was odd for him. Usually he's an everyday chatterbox, but now he was all quiet. With little doubt in your mind you walked down to Travis's room to find his portable phone, still on Pesterchum. You read his most recent conversation as your suspicions were correct. Poor Travis was stuck in the middle of this issue with Dell and these supposed aliens. The first one you found out about only weeks after Dell first started speaking to them, and he/she was of no interest. It was the second, more angry one, that got your attention. A week or so ago he began demanding for you to have Dell cease conversing with his comrade, and you passed it off as a prankster. But as he began to do this to teammates, you began to get interested in who these mysterious people were. If they were an enemy Spy, you had several bullets with his name on them.

Placing the phone exactly as you found it, you returned to your room and started the Pesterchum program. You almost never use it, and assumed it was a team-only thing Engineer came up with, and simply went by your class name. But it didn't matter to you when you realized it was global. The internet was the internet.

_heavyWeapons [HW] has started pestering carnicoGeneticist [CG]_

HW: Hello.

CG: WHO THE FUCK IS THIS

HW: You spoke to me earlier this week.

CG: SO? I USE THIS FOR TONS OF SHIT. HOW WOULD I REMEMBER ONE CONVERSATION?

CG: ALSO WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT

HW: I would prefer if you left my comrade Engineer alone.

HW: I know you are trying to get him to stop his conversations with what I assume to be your comrade.

HW: I do not care for who you are or who your friend is, but I do care for my team.

HW: And if you try to annoy or harass my team we will have a serious problem.

CG: OH I'M SO SCARED

CG: I'M THIS SCARED

_[CG] has sent [HW] file: fuckyou_

You sighed to yourself. There was no doubt that opening that would run a .scr that would do something horrible to your computer. Instead, you merely renamed it and sent it right back.

HW: You should be this scared.

_[HW] has sent [CG] file: funny_

CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

HW: My response.

CG: LOOK, WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY IS YOU HUMANS NEED TO LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE. NOW WHAT THE HELL IS THIS.

HW: Goodbye, tiny baby phony.

_carnicoGeneticist [CG]'s computer has exploded_

You made a loud, hearty laugh to yourself. Oh how you love crushing baby men, in real life and now in this. There's just a certain satisfaction to it you could never explain to someone in conversation. Aside from playing the 'dumb merc.'

The little window on your screen stopped you from shutting off your computer. It was a mustard yellow dot next to someone named twinArmageddons. Wasn't this the person Dell talks to? You assume you were about to find out.

_twinArmageddons [TA] has started trolling heavyWeapons [HW]_

TA: before you 2ay anythiing, iill prove iim who ii 2ay ii am wiith thii2

TA: turn around

Strange... Why did he talk like that? Was it rooted off some long-ago typo that stuck, or some signature typing style? Curious, you turned around, wondering what he meant by 'who ii 2ay ii am'. Of course, nothing. This made you feel rather silly. Someone on the internet says to turn around and you do actually expecting-

**_-IFY_**

A pile of dirt, a Sandvich, and a strange piece of headwear appeared on the floor in the middle of your room. Upon closer inspection you noticed this dirt was not like dirt you've ever seen, and had chunks of the same kind of rock Dell used to run the generator now. And the headwear was a damp yellow, with a thick bicolored visor with red on one half, and blue on the other. There were 4 holes at the top, as if something fit through them putting it on. And none of it (Except for the Sandvich, which you quickly ate out of curiosity) seemed to be made of any material you've see.

HW: What is this?

TA: alterniium, a copy of my ance2tor2 helmet and one of your human food2

TA: 2o ii need two make 2ure you know iim not a human before you a22ume iim 2ome iinternet troll

TA: whiich ii2 funny con2iideriing that2 the name of our 2peciie2

HW: What was the point of all of this?

HW: Other than your mild obsession with the number two.

TA: br ha2nt re2ponded two my me22age2

TA: ii need two know iif he2 alriight

HW: Engineer? He's fine, he was just fixing our power. It's fine now.

TA: ok thank2

TA: tell hiim ii 2aiid iit2 ready

TA: iit2 iimportant

HW: Sure.

TA: ok thank2

_twinArmageddons [TA] has stopped trolling heavyWeapons [HW]_

Finally, you shut the computer down before anyone else tried chatting. If they wanted to talk, they were free to face-to-face. You walked outside to hear lots of shouting. Strange, Doe and Tavish don't usually have drunken fights so early. Yet it didn't sound like Tavish was involved, so you went to investigate.

Instead of drunks, you found a very sober and very angry Soldier holding a very beaten Engineer in the kitchen. "FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY?!" Jane screamed, sending another blow to Dell's face. "I KNEW I COULD NEVER TRUST YOU. YOU AREN'T EVEN FUCKING AMERICAN ARE YOU? FILTHIER THAN SPY! WHAT'S IN THE ROCK YOU SNUCK INTO OUR GENERATOR? A BOMB? SECRETS? SPEAK UP, MAGGOT!-"

"Jane," you interrupted in your big boom. The Soldier turned to look at you behind his helmet. "Let leetle Engineer down." "LIKE HELL HE'S GETTING OUT OF THIS, _COMMY_. YOU'VE BEEN SPEAKING TO SOMEONE OUTSIDE BASE TOO, AREN'T YOU?! SCOUT, YOU DID A GOOD THING TELLING ME ABOUT THIS." You noticed Scout sitting at the table, his head down in shame. Poor guy, he was extremely self-critical, and spent a day or two hating himself after one of these moments before returning to normal. It wasn't his fault, you knew he was only here for his mother, and built up a massive ego for himself after living in a neighborhood like his. Being put on the spot without guns blazing around him isn't very good.

"Jane Doe, poot Engineer down this instant!" you yelled. Scout jumped up, giving a rather unmanly shriek. Soldier stared at you dumbfounded, and it gave you a small feeling of satisfaction. Nobody can freeze up even the strongest man like you can, and Soldier is no exception. It's almost delightful to see him knocked out of his normal by something like this.

But that look of shock quickly flashed to anger, and he dropped Dell. "And why should I let YOU go, huh? Maybe I should send you through Respawn a hundred times or so, Private-"

"You are not my superior, Jane." You accidentally started dropping your dumb talk, but you didn't care. This time you want Soldier to know how much more you had over him. He visibly tensed up, but didn't stop moving forward, pulling his Shotgun out. "It's time you get put in place, Heav-"

He probably didn't expect you to be fast. Nobody expected the towering giant to, but when it came to agility you could probably come close behind Scout. You've been fighting and hunting massive bears and killing invaders your entire life, why lose the skill you've developed? You swiftly swiped the gun out of his hands, delivering a strong uppercut to Soldier's chin. He stumbled back, bleeding, but continued to try and beat you. Unbelievable. You gave him one strong kick to the stomach, and held him back by putting a hand on his forehead. Eventually, the internal bleeding got to him, and he collapsed on the ground.

You moved to Dell, who was now struggling to get up. "What was fight about?" you questioned, helping him up without even a grunt. "Well... 'might as well... tell y'all-"

"You have alien comrades. I know," you replied. He seemed shocked, but you couldn't tell behind the goggles and bruises. How were those things still on his face after a beating like that? You brought him back to his room, which was also part of his Workshop, and set him down on a bench.

You didn't notice half the team had gathered to watch the fight go down, and you were just a bit surprised to see them gathered at the door. A woman pushed in front of the other mercs, in all white other than a light red uniform underneath her overcoat. Her red gloves made her hands seem bigger than they were, and wore dark brown, tight pants under the overcoat. Who was this woman?

Ah, yes, Myrian, the team's Medic. She is the third newest mercenary before Travis and Pyro. You two have grown a special bond over the few years. Even if neither of you ended up a mercenary, you're still sure you'd eventually meet somehow. Perhaps she'd be stranded near your home, you would take her in, care for her, and possibly convince your family to allow her to stay. She was, after all, one of the few sane ones. To an extent, of course, everyone has a special type of insanity to their job.

"Vhat happened?" she asked you, kneeling next to the Engineer. "Soldier beat up leetle Engineer," you responded. Anyone else would probably use this time to watch her work, the way her smooth, experienced hands worked furiously to patch any open cuts or bruises, or how her slender body went with the slightly smaller medipack on her back, connected to the Medi gun strapped to her side. It's smaller than what you've seen other Medics use, for mobility purposes.

But when it comes to you, the team is always first. "Engineer speaks with other people, Soldier thought they were BLUs," you said, eyeing one of his dispensers. You pushed it over to him, and watched as a red beam drifted out of it and flowed towards Dell. Slowly, the bruises began to fade, one particularly nasty cut sealing up to a faint scar.

"Yes, yes, I've spoken with some of zhese... 'aliens,'" Myrian said, emphasizing the end. She didn't believe in things out of the ordinary, but that last person you spoke with... twinArmageddons, just made that stuff appear out of thin air. Plus, since the day you took this job, you gave up on logic. Übercharges, Respawn, Teleporters, wizards, even an _eyeball_ that shot rocket eyeballs. And last Halloween - who knows what will happen this year, with spells, ghosts and skeletons. Logic is hanging on a thread. You wouldn't be surprised at all if aliens existed.

But you would never say this to Medic. When her logic is questioned, there's no escaping the lecture following. It was always fun for you to watch, but not when you're at the receiving end.

That reminds you, you have to tell Dell TA's message. "Engineer," you said, and the less-beaten Dell looked up at you in a daze. "Man on Pester-chum told me to tell you he finished making something. He's one of the people that troll us rather than pester." Suddenly, he sat up as if nothing happened. It didn't look like it, either; he was almost completely healed from the Dispenser. "Wait, what? Gimme a computer," he jumped up, but Myrian quickly held him back. "No, not yet Herr Engineer. You vill need some rest before doing anyzhing. Zhe dispenser just barely fixed a collapsed lung, I don't want you mezzing it up again." Dell sighed before nodding, sitting back down next to the Dispenser. You gave Myrian a small approving smile before heading back out.

You just remembered you needed to replace Sasha's handle. It was too big to stay connected after long periods of use.

**Misha: Be Myrian**


	4. Act 1 Act 1 Part 4

**Act I: Fortress**

**A1A4**

* * *

You are now Myrian Corbitz. You are the RED Medic stationed in 2Fort, and unlike your brother, Hans, who is stationed in Coldfront, you amazingly still have your medical license. You're just better at hiding experiments that may be 'frowned upon' by officials. But that's when you got this job. Where you can experiment all you want with any equipment needed. All the subjects you ever needed, even if you'd kill them afterwards. But of course, those are the BLUs. You wouldn't dare experiment on your fellow REDs. To an extent, of course, after Hans mastered creating the chemical compounds that the Medi gun used to heal teammates, you had to operate on your teammates to give them a more... usable heart. Including yourself, which took a good 21 hours but was worth it all the while. If you even tried Übering someone with a normal heart, it would explode in their chest. Of course, it's always been interesting to see happen...

Fritz jumped up onto your lap and curled up as she watched you. You love this cat with all your heart, but this fluffly grey ball loves making a mess of projects while you're away. That's why you store things in cryogenetic freezers now. She wouldn't dare go in it.

You let Dell go after only ten minutes of watching him twiddle his thumbs and tap his foot impatiently. His lung was probably fully healed by then; you just like testing your patie-teammates.

_Teammates_.

Not patients.

You paused for just a few seconds before picking up Fritz and returning to your office. You loved cats. Not to the point of obsession, but as a kid you'd always take in stray or lost cats, care for them, then either give them away to people or return them if the owners come looking for their lost cat. Fritz was the last cat you found before Mann Co. offered you the job, along with protection from any enemies. The list could probably go for kilometers of people who want you dead.

The only mercenaries here you really felt were trustworthy teammates were Rick, Misha, and Dell. Especially Misha. The second you two met it was obvious you had plenty alike. Both of you lived in poverty, fighting each day for food (Although Misha literally fought his food), and, of course, cats. You never expected a man like him to hold Fritz so gently with giant hands. The same hands that could almost wrap around your waist completely, or crush a Scout's skull, or carry a 150 kg gun spitting hell on the poor bastards in his way. Yet, the first time you introduced him to Fritz, the cat loved him. She always likes to sit on his shoulders when he sits, or follow him around if you aren't there. It was too adorable.

The sound of a high pitched beep made you jump as you walked into your office. Fritz, as usual, merely jumped down and curled up in her corner. You moved behind your desk to see a message on your computer screen. It was Dell, sending you a message on a custom program he made. Since that stupid Pesterchum system was so annoying to you, you preferred using this instead. Just in case you both were busy and had to notify the other of something. Dell called it 'e-mail.'

**_'To: Myrian_**

**_CC:_**

**_Subject: Idea_**

**_New idea, come see me.'_**

Wow, you're surprised he's already back to work. Perhaps this other unknown Pesterchum user gave him the idea.

* * *

You knocked on the door to Dell's workshop. "Jus' a second!" you heard from inside as the Engineer opened the door. His forehead was beaded with sweat, yet those goggles were still on his face. There were dark stains under his armpits, and he reeked of grease and sweat. "Great, come on in," he said, moving to let you in.

You walked inside to find several small machines set up before you. Each one was pretty much a tall box for a base, with certain mechanical parts for different things, and a small antennae at the top. There were also three to four small, Teleporter-like devices on each one, pointed outward. You turned to Dell, puzzled. "Vhat is it?" you asked. Almost like a child, he got excited as he explained it to you. They were basically mobile Respawn units that could be worn like a backpack then placed anywhere. "Y'know that ol' heart you had set up to Respawn as a stress reliever?" he finished with, and you gave an irritated nod. You lost that thing a while ago and never found it, and you would always reach for it during stressful times. He could of at least asked to use it. "Well, watch this." He flicked a switch on one of them, and it immediately jolted to life. No exhaust whatsoever, either; it probably ran off the strange red rocks he had. The ones that power the base now with a small fist-sized one.

You just noticed a pool of blood on the opposite end of the room, along with several spent shells on the ground. How long had that been there? Before you could think too much about it, one of the discs on the machine spun, and your old stress-reliever heart appeared as if through a teleporter next to it, dropping softly to the ground. You watched it, dumbfounded. "Th' best part is that it'll still Respawn someone that's been dead even longer than what our Respawn accepts," he said. Of course the Respawn limited how dead the body could be. That way it doesn't Respawn the wrong people (As long as they were connected to the system). You wouldn't want to have zombies to deal with, would you-

Actually, no, you probably would want to experiment with them. "Zhis is incredible, Herr Engineer," you muttered, picking the heart up. This was an amazing prototype, a great design, and... also completely unnecessary. "Vhy did you build zhese?" you asked, looking to him. "Ve already _have_ a Respawn system here."

"Well, it's..." Engineer suddenly had trouble forming words, like he was going over it in his head to see how it'd sound to you, or something odd. "... It's kinda like a safety net, y'know? Incase Respawn doesn't work one time, we flip this on and it'll Respawn whoever died back." You turned back to the machines. "So vhy did you build three?" As always, his answer was 'Just in case.' He never built one of something. Always more than one, always two or three spares. Yes, a mobile backup Respawn was great, but were three in one place really necessary? "Un zhis vun does not even look like it connects to zhe Respawn." You eyed one suspiciously. The outer shell was made of a strange dark metal with no reflectivity whatsoever, yet it not only reflected any light but mimicked the light's beam on its surface. This... you deemed it not from this earth. On one side of the strange box was a small control panel, and the keyboard on it was definitely not a human language. The screen was divided in 12 squares, four in the center, and two above, below, and to the sides, making them the shape of a thick, sideways 'X.' Other than that, there was no other features on it.

"Well, that one ain't for us," Dell replied behind you, typing into something you've never seen before.

Seriously, what the fuck was that? A computer connected to a huge disc on the ground?

Dell pushed a button that made the disc begin moving slowly. It rotated faster and faster until it was about the speed of a Teleporter. "Here, grab an end," he said, holding one side of the strange box. You grabbed an edge and helped him carry it over to the massive Teleporter. The closer you got, the more nervous you were. "Uh, do ve just... throw it on? Or-" He chuckled as if it were a joke. "Nah, we can jus' place it on the center and step off. The Stabilizer'll keep it a level surface to walk on."

Ok, so this thing really was just a giant Teleporter. Just... still different. You placed the small machine at the center of the disk and hurried off the plate. Before you stepped off, there was a bright flash of light, and you turned to see the device already gone. "Jeez, Doc, it's fine," Engineer said, patting your back. But that couldn't just be it. You still have so many questions! What the hell was that thing? Why did you just help him teleport it who-knows-where, and where did it go?

Of course, rather than ask, you just let him say 'Thanks' and left. As you always do. It's not that you didn't trust him to be honest. He's the second most trustworthy person here in your opinion. You just never fully trusted anyone, maybe except Misha. Which reminded you, it'd be a good idea to speak to him about this. He was like your personal therapist. Sure, others thought of him the same, or just as stupid, but he really did listen to you, and would share opinions, advice, and just relieve your stress whenever you needed it. He could just... tell when you did. You'll talk to him about what just happened, maybe he can bring some light to what's happening.

* * *

**_Hello! Since I've played games like Mass Effect, Battlefield 4, and (especially) The Stanley Parable, I've liked the idea of having choices. Small choices, like Battlefield, or entire game changing ones like TSP, are all fun to have. So, starting right now, I'm gonna try a little experiment. At the end of every chapter I'm going to have 2 to 3 choices. After you finish reading each chapter, you decide which choice you want the next chapter to be, put it in the reviews, and after a little bit I'll pick the most wanted choice. Some choices might be simple character changes. Others might be what someone does that can completely affect the story entirely. It'll all depend on what YOU guys pick. I wanna see how this'll go, if people don't really enjoy it I'll go back to the standard 'kind of a hint to next chapter' thing. Who knows, let's see what happens._**

* * *

**[]: Be someone else**

**Myrian: Speak to Misha now**


	5. Act 1 Act 1 Part 5

**Act I: Fortress**

**A1A5**

**[]: Be someone else**

* * *

You are now Tavish DeGroot.

_THE GREATEST BLOODY DEMOMAN ALIVE!_

Okay, that's far-fetched, even for you. Are you 100% sure you're the best there is?

Yes. Yes you are.

You are Tavish DeGroot. You're the RED Demolitions man, or Demoman, and are a descendant of Prince DeGroot of DeGroot Keep. You practically reinvented the book of Boom, and always find new ways to blow something up. Sure, you lost an eye probably from it, but you were so drunk when it happened either you blew your eye out playing with a bomb, or... something with wizards and a magic bomb book. Who knows, you're quite drunk a lot.

But not today. You've been slowly weening yourself off the sauce, and now you're using it in your bombs more than drinking. So far, it's pretty alright. No serious withdrawal or anything, you planned going sober for a while. After all, you can't be the 'Grim Bloody Fable with an Unhappy Bloody Ending' drunk, can you?

Well, yes. Yes you can.

You're somewhat addicted to this Pesterthingy, but are almost always drunk using it. Could today be the first day you don't suck down a bottle of genuine Scottish scrumpy before using it? You laughed to yourself heartily. Of _course_ not! This was your excuse to drink! Actually, a note to the confused is necessary. For you, 'sober' is really only half-drunk; not drunk enough for work, but too drunk for anyone to really be worried.

You've met a few interesting people on this thing, despite being part of the only civilization on Earth that could have this Internet thing. They're all from a different planet and talk funny. You believe them fully. You're hardly skeptical when it comes to much. You... Yes, it was Merasmus that caused the loss of your eye! That _bastard_! You lost your eye to a wizard, fought said eye every Halloween, pushed the corpse of the dead BLU founder to Hell, used magic, and you guys are practically bloody gods! Aliens aren't that far fetched. One of them actually types like you. Although, that isn't something to really be proud of. It's filled with typos and drunken randomness. You two are terrific pals! You blabber about bombs, she blabbers about making cats with some machine. You aren't sure what she means by that. Probably magic.

Unfortunately, she's not on at the moment, but someone else is. This guy is cool. But he's hard to understand sometimes, he breaks out into rap a lot and you just let him while you watch words fly by the screen in red. You decide you aren't quite drunk enough for his irony, and move on. Other than him, nobody else is on, except Jane. There's NO way you're going to start a conversation with him. That's suicide.

Instead, you decide to see what the others are up to, and leave your room with a bottle of scrumpy and a Stickybomb Launcher. You never know when you'll need it. You also never go anywhere without at least one bottle of the sauce. You have a secret teleporter set up in Scotland where you get the finest scrumpy on Earth. It has the perfect burn as it goes down your throat, and tastes almost exactly like the gold on the crown of DeGroot himself. That's what you think, at least. It does taste pretty damn good.

You pass by Medic as she walks swiftly down the hallway. She gives a small nod as you nod back. You wonder momentarily where she is headed. Travis always says that he bets Medic and Heavy go touching bums whenever nobody looks. You don't understand what that means, or why he's so fond of finding out. Jealousy? You doubt it, Medic's too old for him. Perhaps he's always curious about everyone's love life. He's a self-proclaimed 'expert' on the topic, despite being the only one of you guys that hasn't had a relationship. Bloody hell, even Pyro mentioned a girl once that he keeps contact with, and Soldier hit it off with Heavy's sister. But you really don't care too much about it. You're sure he'll go for Miss Pauling, and if not her, you've heard from Spy that the Scout on BLU had a 'thing' for Travis, even if she was a BLU. Again, it was none if your concern.

Jeez, all this thinking left you thirsty! You took another gulp from your bottle before heading into the rec area. Of course, Jane was there now, freshly Respawned from the brawl, moody as ever by the couch. Sniper had made a fresh pot of coffee and was sipping from his "#1 Sniper" mug. You wonder if it was a hate-gift from his parents or if it was a cheesy reward from some past contract. He never really interacts with you guys, and always stays isolated. Nevertheless, you give him a friendly wave as he nods back.

"How's tha coffee, Ricky?" you ask, plopping down on the table. He takes a slow slurp from the mug as he stares blankly at the wall, before smacking his lips in thought. "Could be better, but it'll do, mate," he replies, sitting across from you. He had his aviators on his shirt, his green eyes standing out from his dark, sunburned face. "How 'bout the family? Parents call lately?"

He chuckled before sipping the black coffee from his mug again. Seriously, you don't know how he could drink that. "Funny. 'Hey, son, still a crazed maniac with a gun?' Who starts a bloody conversation loik that?" His parents have the idea that he's a crazed gunman after he's argued that he's an assassin. "Aye, but ye got it easy. Me mum's always pissed I 'aven't blown me other eye out. She said that's how I know I kept tha bloody family legacy alive," you respond, taking another swig. Your mum's always ashamed of what you do. Not your job specifically, but how poorly you're using your potential. Everyone in the DeGroot family is an expert demolitions man, criminal or contract, and you've landed yourself a 'fuckin dead end job at a bloody desert of fuckin idiots.' Even though this was the highest paying job anyone in your family has ever gotten, she's still disappointed. You could never impress her, but all the same you love her drunken heart.

Rick gave you a weird look as you put down the bottle. "Jeez, it's only 9 o'clock. Ye just started drinkin' this late in the night, mate?" he asked, grinning. "Ah, go fuck yerself, ye pee in bloody jars," you retorted. Of course, neither of you ever insulted each other seriously. You two were bonded in the power of this human disease called friendship. You two would hang out all the time, even for his isolated standards. He chuckled to himself as he swallowed the last of the coffee. "Yeah, but who would ya turn to when yer burst in flames?"

"Medic, Engineer, any bomb cart," you started, "any water, medical kits, not wearing that flammable getup, the list goes on." You both laughed as he rinsed out his mug. There was a lot about him to make fun of, but of course the same went for you. "Well, I should probably get back to my camper," he said, packing up the few things he had, "see ya in tha mornin'."

"Aye, you too, lad," you replied, watching him leave the room. You noticed Dell sitting on the couch now instead of Soldier, another one of the strange rocks in his hands. He seemed deep in thought, it was best to let him be.

You returned to your room to see a message on your beloved Pesterchum thing. You hurried over to see who it was.

_tipsyGnostalgic [TG] has started pestering scrumpyBroomstone [SB_]

TG: piiirate guy

TG: heeeeeeeeeeeeeey

TG: heloloooo

TG: *hello

SB: whatre you saying

TG: what

SB: i told you im not a blody pirat

SB: bloody pirate*

TG: but you taaaaaalk like one

TG: in my book, ur a pirate dude

SB: bloddy kid

TG: *bloody

SB: bloody*

SB: damnit

TG: hahahahhahaaaaa!

SB: so what do you want

TG: welll

TG: i was wondering...

TG: are you a trall

TG:*troll

A... what? It didn't help after she corrected herself. What the hell was a troll? You sat there for a second, probably longer. There must be something you know of called a 'troll'

SB: a what?

TG: mooooovign on

SB: nono tell me what a troll is

TG: oh ok

TG: so a troll is pretty much a person butt gray and has horns

SB: ...

SB: what

TG: ok so imagine whatever you lok like

TG: *look

TG: now imagine you had gray skin and horns

TG: boomm

SB: that doesnt bloody help but ok

SB: is that it

TG: yeeeeeuup bye

_tipsyGnostalgic [TG] has stopped trolling scrumpyBroomstone [SB]_

Well, that... That was interesting, you guess. Someone randomly asks you if you're some thing that doesn't exist then leaves. It doesn't matter to you for long. Both because your mind drifts off and because, well, you just don't CARE. Kids can be kids you guess, assuming it's a kid, even a drunk one.

You should shut this damn thing off, but... then you'd have to bend down, and once you lean down it's too much trouble and you usually just sleep right there on the floor. Plus you don't want to miss anything. You finished the last of the bottle of scrumpy and headed to bed. You didn't want to have to go through Respawn to clear up a hangover, so it's best to get to sleep earlier than usual. It helps a bit.

Well, you guess it's time to start the sheep counting thing. You aren't a sleep insomniac or anything, it's just fun.

_One, two, two point five episode two, four, five..._

* * *

**Myrian: Speak with Misha**

**Tavish: Be Misha**


	6. Act 1 Act 1 Part 6

**I really am glad you guys are enjoying this! Apologies for the delay (if this could be called one), for I have been very busy with Scream Fortress 6.**

**It's so... beautiful. **

**My favorite two new sets are the Rooftop Rebel Hunter set for Scout and the Templar set for Medic. Of course, Mundy on an ostrich never hurt. What's your favorite new sets and combinations? Also, how is the new cover? I'll be updating it to better match the story soon, but that was a test cover I made while toying with the cp_convoy_v2 map. **

**Act I Act I (Part 6)**

**A1A1P6**

**Fortress**

**Myrian: Speak to Misha**

* * *

You are now Myrian Corbitz. About time, dumpkoff! You meant to speak to Misha a while ago, but you've been very caught up with paperwork. Physicals are coming up, and you dislike them as much as the others (Of course, you only dislike it for the papers you have to sign and file for everyone). When you finally went through the stack of papers, you picked up Fritz and brought her with you as you left the office. Tomorrow the Administrator is going to discuss bringing a Xenomorph alien to the team as a backup Scout, and you just can't wait for the injuries that will probably follow if it goes through.

As you walked down the hall, you passed by the Respawn room when Jane came out. He looked enraged, but he seemed to be doing the exercises you taught him to calm down. As you two walked, you heard him muttering "thirty three, thirty four, thirty five," under his breath. Good, you thought, he knows he went too far with Dell. He tuned to the right, to the rec room, as you continued forward. It doesn't take long before you begin trying to get in the mercs' heads when they're with you for long enough.

You pass by Tavish DeGroot on the way to Misha's room, and he gives you a polite nod. You return the gesture, and watch as he heads for the rec area as well. He seemed slightly more sober than usual, which is good. It's a miracle he doesn't have to go through Respawn twelve times a day with the amount of alcohol he consumes. Finally, you reach the wide, wood door of Misha Demetris. You knock quietly twice, as you hear a deep "Nyet. One second," from inside. You wait patiently for about one minute three seconds before he opens the door, slight splotches of grease on his off duty uniform. You assume he was repairing his Minigun's handle, it was extremely loose and old last you checked. "Ah, Myrian, come in," he moved, allowing you to enter the giant's room.

Misha's room was quite different from any of the other merc's room. For one, he got double the space for his and his weapon's size. It's also a bit cleaner than others, most things kept on shelves or in compartments. He had one picture by his bed of his home in Russia, and several Russian literary papers scattered about a desk. His doctorate in Russian Literature hung proudly on the wall opposite his bed. What stood out was his massive minigun propped on a stand, slightly disassembled with parts laying on the ground in order of assembly.

Misha moved some parts aside to make room for you to walk in as he sat down on his bed. "I've been waiting for you to come talk," he says, "I can tell you have something on mind." He really can read anybody like an open book. "Yes," you say, "I vas vundering if you knew anyzhing about zhese... 'ozzers' Dell speaks to." He pauses, deep in thought, as he shifts to the side to move his gun. "Yes, one is the reason why we have a rock powering base. Other one just seems like BLU Soldier but smarter."

You knew the second one. He always used incorrect terms, such as 'protein chute' or 'thinkpan.' But the first one to come up seemed to have much more advanced technology, and elements that couldn't possibly be on this planet. "Vell, Dell had me help him move zhis... mobile Respawn machine onto vun of his new Teleporters, und it vas made of very strange metal. He also never told me vhere it vas going or vhy," you explained. You could say Dell acts 'strange' when he makes something new, but usually because he has a fear somebody would break it or steal it to store bread in. However nothing he makes lately either A) seems breakable, like it's some indestructible material, or B) is around long before it disappears. He seems to be making a lot of machines that he either gets rid of the following day or teleports to some unknown location.

Heavy nods. "Da, I know of this," he says. "Dell and other man work together to make new machines for us and other man's comrades." You nod your head slightly as you pick up a paper by random. He's been meaning to teach you Russian, as you've been meaning to teach him German. It reminded you of the multitudes of languages you learned Dell knew. It made sense that he spoke Spanish, considering he was from Texas, but he was also fluent in Deutsch, French, Portuguese, and even knew a little Mandarin.

You're getting off track a bit, Corbitz. You turn back to Misha and sit in his desk chair. It was made of wood inside, and covered in bear fur for cushioning and warmth. No doubt home-made. "Do you zhink you have any idea who zhey might be?" you asked him, already sinking into the fur. The shaved bear shrugs, chuckling a bit. "Maybe, but you would not like answer."

You sigh. You know he's going to suggest there are extraterrestrials, but you are a large skeptic on the idea. You need hard proof to believe something. You got hard proof last Halloween when RED and BLU used spells to consistently send the corpses of Redmond and Blutartch Mann to Hell, despite them strangely coming back in a box on a Payload cart frame with "_SEND TO HELL_" on the side. You've seen Demoman's eye come back to life and attack you all with mini eyeball rockets. You've seen Silas Mann haunt the Mann Manor as a headless horsemann (minus the horse).

But you will not just accept that there is intelligent life elsewhere in the universe without proof. The chance of planets that could possibly sustain life? Yes, it's high, but the chance of there also being intelligent life on the few habitable planets with such advanced technology is low. You want _evidence_.

But Misha already begins to get up, moving towards his closet. "Do you remember when I painted Sasha in Australium?" he asked. You nodded your head, remembering when that happened. There was a massive discovery of Australium, and Saxton Hale got the idea to sell some of it to you mercs as a building tool. You used the opportunity to recreate your Medigun and Blutsauger gun out of the Australium. "Well, I removed the Australium after Dell gave me some of his new metal." He opens the door, reaching in to the closet. Your mouth drops as he pulls out spare parts to his minigun, except entirely made of a dimly glowing, dark red substance. "This," he says, setting the parts down, "is Alternium." He hands you a large piece of the main frame with the trigger and basic barrel system installed. It was... surprisingly light, as if it was made of cardboard. So light, you fall back from jerking up lifting it. You yell in surprise as Misha is already behind you, a massive safety bear net. "Zhis is... zhis is liter zhan carbon fiber," you exclaim, "but how?"

Misha helps you up with one effortless pull, you still holding the stripped red minigun. "Dell says that the metal is not from Earth. Is indeed alien element," he explains. You want to argue. You want to tell him how it's probably some undiscovered material that someone came across.

But you couldn't. Not only was it self illuminating a faint red glow, but it was light as a feather. It defied almost every element from the glowing alone, the fact that a minigun made out of it is still lighter than a textbook was insanely unlikely, even if you were looking at the proof. "Nein, zhere is not enough evidence for me," you exclaim, "but it is very strange. Vhatever zhese two strangers are, alien or not, they are making Dell jumpier, I don't like it." Misha let out his signature grunt before putting the Alternium minigun parts back in the closet. "Is only a phase," he says, "Dell will be fine. Leetle Myrian worries too much about comrades."

A loud scream outside made you jump, but Misha merely laughed. "I forgot, Jane and Travis have bench press contest tonight," he said as Travis's cry of pain rung down the halls. "Someone must have overshot."

"Acht, I vill probably have to tend to zhe boy," you mutter. It's true, considering Travis is prone to putting himself in dangerous situations around the clock, on and off the battlefield. Heavy nods before he gets up to open the door for you again, but you hold a hand up. He was on the other end of the room, while you were right next to the door. "Misha, do not vorry, I can open it." You chuckle as you open the door. "You are doing a good job," you say in afterthought.

As the door closed, you listened to the sounds of yells down the hall. What did that damn Scout do to himself this time?!

* * *

**Myrian: Be the Spy**

* * *

You are now the Spy. Also known as Jean-Paul, François, RED Spy, Vincent, Francis, FBI Most Wanted #23, and, personally, quite the handsome rogue. This was the benefit of being a double agent. You could be anybody, or nobody! Or you can be literally nobody with your invisibility watch. Just a cloaked form in a corner, or dark shadow, or just behind a Dispenser. It was a pleasure to think about the little things of your job. As the Spy your job was pure stealth. Sneak behind the enemies, trick them into falling for your clever disguises, and taking them out one by one with a quick stab into their precious spines. And when you aren't doing that, you're watching them. Learning about them. You know with almost no doubt the girl that is the BLU Scout has been interested in Travis for a long time, and although friendships and relationships are forbidden by the Administrator, Helen, off-field relationships happen all the time. You know in time she'll corner him in a battle and their imaginations will fly. It's amazing what female and male mercs do sometimes in hidden spots. The strangest non-sexual thing so far, however, was Misha teaching Myrian Russian in the rafters of your team's fort, hidden away by random stacks of hay stored up there. It's amazing a man that size could hide so well. It's also amazing that THAT was your best example. You just don't have enough interest to spy into others' love lives. You're sure a lot can happen between the mercs. Again, you just don't care, even if it's your job to snoop.

Rather than sit in a stuffy base with eight drunk or idiotic mercs, you stayed outside to watch the stars. Almost every single light in the base was either off or deeper inside, so all of the twinkling dots in the sky exploded with color and light once you had stepped outside. You pulled your Disguise Case out and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it with your cubed mobile fire device. A spark inside made the small flame come alive on the nozzle of the box. You took a deep breath as the smoke traveled into your lungs, the stress of your hellish job fading away.

Aside from smoking, your interests are kept to a minimum. You watch very few movies, don't interact a lot with others, and your identity is kept under wraps. But you're you, you really don't care if someone knows your name. You've been running and hiding for years, you feel like the woman from Alien _and_ the alien itself.

Ok, maybe there are a few movies you enjoy. Mostly the ones where it's several helpless people put against an enemy that's always one step ahead and always in the shadows. These are usually your favorite because, well, you relate to them! A trained assassin that has to deal with the largest group of idiots with either one smart or one lucky hero that makes it out alive. Sometimes you wish you can talk to the bad guy and say "kill them first."

You take a glance at your Wall to make sure you didn't reference too much. This is the Fourth Wall. You feel it's your job to keep it working properly. It warns when someone is about to break it. Its meter rose to a low yellow from your thoughts the paragraph before, but lowered back to a green thumbs up. Good. Always keep track of things, you always say.

Someone seems to be pestering you on Engineer's messenger. You finish your miniature cornish game hen before calmly sitting down on your chair.

_[assistant] has started pestering [UNKNOWN]_

Ah. Ms. Pauling. Rather than having Helen sending the team self-destructing messages, her assistant Pauling merely tells you here.

[] Spy.

| Yes?

[] Good, you're there. I'm sure you know of the 10th addition your team will have shortly.

| The alien? Yes, I am aware.

[] Well, it passes all of its physical and mental tests, starting tomorrow morning he should arrive as Scout's backup.

| Excellent. The boy needs something to keep himself out of Respawn. Unless he and the BLU Scout are possibly able to sneak off field more often.

[] You know relationships are prohibited, Spy.

| And yet, we have everyone together with someone except the blabbermouth.

[] I'm surprised Helen barely looks into intimate relationships, especially the relationship between Tavish and Jane when he was still a BLU.

| Luck of the draw, perhaps?

[] Who knows with her.

| Touché.

[] Just promise me you won't tell anyone about the alien until we are 100% sure we are bringing him in.

| Do not worry.

[] Francois. I mean it.

You froze. She's serious if she uses your name.

| I promise on my wife's grave.

[] I hope you mean it.

_[assistant] has stopped pestering [UNKNOWN]_

You are indeed François Lawrence. Out of all your aliases your real name does indeed just 'happen' to be your favorite. Your wife also just 'happens' to be the mother of the BLU Scout. She didn't take it too well at first but accepts it now. It's the longest standing relationship at the base.

Oh dear, is it already 3 in the morning? Time really passes by when you're being stealthy. You stretch as you remove your balaclava. You've been starting to have more gray hairs every time you look, but it's still important to keep your hair looking nice, even under the mask. Removing your outerwear, you checked your door lock and relieved yourself before heading to sleep.

You'd need to be alert for this new alien.

* * *

**~~END OF ACT I ACT I~~**

* * *

**ACT I ACT II**

**Travis: React childishly and poorly**

**François: Dig into Myrian's files about new mercenary**

**François: Be someone else**


	7. Act 1 Act 2 Part 1

**You know what, why can't we get to know each other?**

**Starting at this chapter, feel free to ask me questions! They can be about Homestuck, TF2, Steam, or just anything!**

**For now, enjoy the longest chapter so far!**

**Act I Act II (Part 1)**

**A1A2**

* * *

**Travis:** **React childishly and poorly**

* * *

You are now Travis Morrow, and you are in quite some pain.

Well, not so much anymore. Myrian fixed you up but before then you could barely move your arms. Mostly because they were both snapped clean in two, but that's what the Medigun is for. Today is a new day. You had plans to be less of a dick after that damn contest between you and Jane. You stretched, cracked at least 4 spots in your back, and stepped into the hallway to be greeted by a _holy shit what is that_.

The alien turned sharply as you gasped, facing you. It was pitch black, with long skeletal arms and legs. There were four pipe-like things protruding from its back, with a large, long head. It hissed, a second mouth extending out of its mouth. You... guess that'd be cool, had it not been directed towards you. Suddenly, Medic came up behind it and smacked it in the side of the head. "Nein! He is friendly," she scolded, the alien standing down. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, and immediately exploded. "_What the fuck is that thing_?!" you yelled as the thing eyed you. Or... where the hell are its eyes? "Zhis is your backup Scout, Travis," Myrian said, "she's a Xenomorph." Great, it's a girl, too! What's it going to do, bitch at you to death?

"She can sense your anger, Herr Scout," Myrian said as you noticed the alien hissing at you again. Drool or slime or whatever was dripping out of her mouth, and it started creeping you out. "Well, then do something about it, but I don't need a damn backup," you sneered, turning as you ended up with your face in a wall. Damn, that hurt. "You're right, Travis," Myrian replied, the alien grunting or doing something resembling a laugh. Seriously, where the hell did it come from that gave someone an idea to put it in war?! "In fact, instead you could use a personal assistant for your idiotic behavior."

Both you and the alien gave Myrian a strange look. "Ahahaha, you're funny," you say cautiously, "but I'll fuckin' kill you if you make that thing go near me." You immediately ran down the hall to warn everyone that Medic's finally gone batshit crazy. Conveniently, everyone else was already gathered at the Wreck Wroom. It was actually meant to be a recreational room, but Soldier and Demo use it to beat the shit out of each other in drunk fistfights that it was renamed Wreck Wroom. Jane was arguing with Heavy about who's gun really was bigger (Heavy won), Spy, Mick, and Demo were all sporting coffee mugs, while Dell and Pyro were watching TV. Or, at least Dell was. Pyro was looking somewhere near it, or at least his gas mask was facing that direction. Why can't he take the damn thing off?

"Hey, guys," you said, and only Pyro looked over to you. "I think Medic's trying to kill us." Sniper finally gave you a funny look. "Really?" he asked, "damn shame, I wanted to see tha alien." Tavish agreed with an "Aye." Everyone else was completely ignoring you. "Are you all fuckin' _deaf_?! Medic got a fucking killer alien!" you yelled.

"Acht, calm down, Travis," Myrian said behind you, "it's only nine thirty." The alien stepped in behind her, with a similar annoyed look. You... guess that's what it is. Maybe it just wants to eat you all. Or needs to take a shit. Does that thing shit? Oh yeah, probably gonna kill you. "_THERE IT IS!_" you yelled, grabbing a meat cleaver. "Guys, run!"

Instead, everyone looked at it with interest. "Howly doodley," Mick said, "can it talk?" Myrian shrugged. "She's shown me nozhing past grunts und growls. But I've learned she can understand English." You looked at Sniper in disbelief. "You dumbass, shoot it!" you yelled. A large hand went over your mouth which you recognized as Heavy's. "Leetle Scout needs to calm down," he said. "Alien is new comrade. Alien or not, be nice." With that, he let you go. What the fuck? You can't believe everyone was so calm about a monster with a mouth inside its fucking mouth. It was more weird, but still scary. More than Scary Hat.

The alien started hissing at you again, and that got everyone's attention. You noticed it staring at Pyro now, who got up to get closer. "Pyro, run!" you called out, but the thing just got up and got closer to the alien. "_Mmlmmph, I mmph wmht mm dmmhng_," he said, which you roughly translated to him saying he knew what he was doing. Pyro put his hand on the alien's head and started rubbing it like some animal. And, surprisingly, it stopped hissing, an instead made some weird purr. Which, if it were Myrian's cat, would be tolerable. But this is an alien. Aliens don't purr. They abduct people and stick probes up their butts.

"No, NO, _NO_," you yelled shoving Pyro out of the way. "You fucking listen to me," you said, jabbing a finger into the alien's face. "You might be special because you're a big ass walkin' alien that can act normal but you will NEVER work alongside me, ya hear?" Of course, you know the alien can't speak back to you, but that just pissed you off more. "Are you fuckin' listening to me?!" You shoved the alien back to the wall, and it started hissing again. "What, are you gonna cry?" You taunted as it got up and _HOLY_ _SHIT_-

You are Travis Morrow, and you are _DEAD_.

* * *

**François: Dig into Myrian's files about new mercenary**

* * *

You are now François Lawrence. Why hello there, you handsome rogue. You're looking quite fine this morning.

You stop admiring your dashing looks in the mirror. After Travis's tantrum was cut short by the Xenomorph's tail, you decided to sneak away before Travis respawned and bitched about the rather appropriate teamkill. The first thing you wanted was information about this creature. Where did it come from? What could it do? How smart was it? You considered many possibilities as you strolled to Myrian's office. Perhaps it's an experiment by the Administrator, possibly seeing how long it takes for you guys before you kill it. Or before it kills you. You pulled out a pin and picked the lock on the medic's door before entering the lab. Mixing smells of alcohol, blood, and fumes of the Medigun were overpowering, but you grew well used to this. Retiring the cigarette you had, you moved to the door on the back wall to her office, where all of the information on every mercenary here was. Inside were 11 filing cabinets. Nine were reserved for one per merc, one was miscellaneous work or experiments Myrian had, and the last one was typically a spare. Although now you had a nagging feeling it'd be the new alien's cabinet.

You opened it to find very few folders within. Grabbing one by random you opened the vanilla-colored folder to find several records and tests in the illegible language only a doctor could read. You put it back and picked a new one, opening it to find more readable notes. It was a basic overview, similar to the one of each mercenary.

_Name: N/A_

_Sex: Female (?)_

_Race: Non-human, Xenomorph-alien_

_Height: 7' 5"_

_Hometown: N/A_

_Primary Language: N/A_

_Secondary Language: N/A_

_Noticeable Feats: Double-jump, scaling walls and ceilings, blade-like tail, acidic blood_

_Class Name: Assistant_

_Notes: Intelligent non-Earth species, requires no close range weaponry, understands English but cannot speak human languages, uses gestures or grunts/growls to communicate._

Interesting, but not enough so to keep digging through files. You're curious how this alien was found, but like everyone else it is up to that mercenary to discuss their past, and only basics are told on paper. You put the folder away when you notice some pictures crammed in the back. You take them out, inspecting them. Each one seems to be a different planet, but none of them in your solar system. It was crazy, since they were very detailed images. With it came a "HABITABLE" or "NON-HABITABLE" label on the bottom, which you assume were Myrian's predictions on the chance of life on the planet. Strange, you thought Myrian was a massive skeptic on the existence of aliens, although this... "Assistant" probably put a hole in her theory and she's just not showing it.

One picture caught your attention among the others. It was a planet of mostly gray and red, the land surrounded by what you assume is ocean. The sun behind it was immensely bright, and you doubted any life could withstand it. Yet, this one had no label, instead a small scribbled note saying "_35% Alternium_," with Dell's messy initials on the bottom left corner. Perhaps this is the origin of the people he talks to. It definitely resembles a more colorful Mars, but you're just surprised the planet isn't on fire from the heat of its star. Perhaps Alternium is extremely heat resistant. You'd have to find out on your own, but first you'd need to figure out a way to obtain Alternium unnoticed. If you pretended to be Dell and have the alien teleport the metal to you like Dell does then you might be able to get it, but you aren't sure if it would inform the engineer or not. You could always steal it and hope he doesn't find out.

You're still a bit curious about what this Xenomorph eats. There's been a smell behind the alcohol and blood that's annoying you. You move towards it to find it's behind the wall. You're almost certain there's a secret door. The only trouble was figuring out a way to open it. The smell only grew with time as you stood there, feeling for a secret button or crease to find what's inside. It smelled of rotten organs and flesh, and it began to get overpowering. You had to stop several times to stop your gagging-

"Vhat are you doing?!" Myrian yelled behind you, causing you to jump. It seems you were there longer than you thought. The Xenomorph was right beside her, watching. "Spy, get out of my office!" the medic yelled, and you gave a short apology before quickly slipping by them. You felt the woman's eyes burning holes in your back as you hurried out into the hall. Now she was probably suspicious of you. But whatever it was behind that wall would have to wait. Your mind was too focused on obtaining one of Dell's favorite red rocks.

* * *

**François: Be someone else**

* * *

You are once again Dell Conagher. You didn't find the new alien mercenary all that interesting, and you knew it was just a temporary test the Administrator wanted to do. So now you were back in your workshop, with a new sentry complete. It was like your standard Mini-Sentry, however it came with a backup Alternium core and a breaker so that placing a Sapper on it wouldn't destroy the sentry. That way you could deal with the Spy and not get distracted with your machines failing. Today would hopefully be a good test of the new sentry, it would be a standard territory grab in Dustbowl. You closed the top and packed it up, placing it with everything you'll use today. Today you were going to try a new offensive tactic, pushing forward with your Mini-Sentry and Widowmaker, while keeping your standard Pistol on you for defense. Everyone was going to try new tactics with a second Scout for the ride. Or Assistant, or whatever the hell it was supposed to be.

Your PDA gave you a small beep, and you turned to see a message left on your computer screen. Instead of being a normal Pesterchum, it was just a notification on the bottom right corner of the screen. You went over to it to look at it.

_You have received a message from: twinArmageddons [TA]_

TA: iit2 ready

_Sent at 0846 [seconds ago]_

This was a surprise. The Teleportifier (That's what you call it now. No real reason, you just felt it was better than saying 'it' or 'the teleporter,' considering you've built countless teleporters) should have been unfinished for at least another few days, but you assume TA knew what he was doing. Wait, what are you talking about? Of course he knows what he's doing. You eyed the remote sender sitting on a bench. When the Teleportifier was complete, you'd test using a BLU Sniper arm you've preserved from one battle that was quite explosive. Since it'd go such a long distance, there's a risk of it reconstructing living tissue wrong, so it would be safer to send already dead tissue to see what happens.

You decided to reply to the message, knowing you had to report for battle in a few minutes.

BC: Good to know. Have to finish work first.

_Sent at 0847_

You shut the computer off, put your weapons and spare metal in your toolbox, grabbed your new building, and set off for the Respawn room. Sure enough, the Administrator's reptile voice broke through the speakers. "Enemy incoming. Mission begins in five minutes." You walked down the hall, passing the other mercenaries grabbing their weapons and other items from their rooms. Travis storing a few Bonk! cans in his bag, Jane picking what shovel he wants to kill people with, Pyro in the extra room putting his mask on-

_WHAT_

You quickly back up to peer into the room to see the firebug packing his things up, which he strangely keeps in the extra room rather than in the one he and Travis shares. You could have sworn you saw blond hair before the mask fully slipped on. The mask suddenly turned around, noticing you. Shit. You had to think of something quick. You opened the door, looking like you were in a rush. "Hey, Pyro, I'm gonna test a new Sentry, wanna back me up if anythin' happens?" you asked, gesturing to the new toolbox in your hand. Pyro said nothing, staring (maybe?) at you for several seconds before shrugging. "Sure," he mumbled, picking up his Degreaser. You gave him a thanks before heading back down the hall. So now you know Pyro has blond hair. You... guess it's nice to know he's at least a normal human physically. Although it was only hair. You still have no idea what his face or body looks like. He might be a cyborg, or an alien, or even worse, something more realistic.

You try to forget that happened, and flipped the switch to the automatic door of the Respawn room. It took a few seconds before the door swung up, revealing the room within. It had a similar siding door on the opposite side towards the battlefield, a resupply locker on each side, with two benches on the wall where you Respawn. Next to the lockers were wooden... lockers, you guess, that each mercenary put miscellaneous or extra items that aren't too important to be kept in the base. Yours had a box of metal at the bottom, spare building parts, a pump shotgun, and your Construction PDA. This thing was a lifesaver. You selected what building you wanted constructed, based on whatever you programmed into it, and it would remotely connect to your toolbox to rapidly construct a compact version of the building. Then, when you set it down, it opened up and the machine constructed itself to whatever it was. You toyed with the buttons until you were in its programming mode, and changed the Sentry program to match your new one. Now it would be able to do what it normally does to construct it, but teleport spare Alternium cores in your workshop into the device, that way you aren't stuck with one new prototype that might not even work. Just in case, you left the default Mini-Sentry saves as a backup incase your new one didn't work.

Soon enough, the others started coming in, fully suited for battle. Misha came in with his Tomislav, which was more of a massive machine gun than a minigun. Soldier had his normal rocket launcher, a Righteous Bison particle launcher, and a bloody pickaxe. You guess today he's going to be up close with everyone. You put your pistol in your side pouch, sitting down on a bench, ready to go. "Mission begins in 60 seconds."

By now, everyone had entered the Respawn room. The plan was to rush the BLUs in one solid offensive push, doing everything to watch everyone's back. The Xeno was now by Travis's side, much to his disappointment, with a dark red band on her right arm signifying her class. The emblem was the Scout's logo with a slightly smaller one behind it. She only had a pistol with her, the tail and teeth already enough to kill. "The enemy is at the gates, prepare before they breach." The door swung open, and you all flooded out to get to the front. Several days ago they took over a massive chunk of the area, and the plan was to get it all back today and shut them out. Sure enough, you saw the BLUs behind the gates at the first point in this section, and their Demoman was already setting up traps to blow it open. You put the toolbox down in the corner, and watched the Mini Sentry construct itself rapidly. It beeped after testing itself, and began scanning the area. Good. At least you know so far that it works. You put down a Teleporter Exit safe from harm behind the bunker, the Teleporter Entrance already built at Spawn. The crackle of Myrian's Übercharge, Travis flipping his bat in anticipation, the Xeno hiding until needed, this was work.

"Five," the woman's voice boomed, "four, three, two, one!" The moment the Administrator said one, the gates burst open.

Welcome to the Fortress.

* * *

**Dell: Send the damn BLUs to hell for a bit**

**Tavish: Prime the traps.**

**François: Do sneaky suspicious Spy behavior.**


	8. Act 1 Act 2 Part 2

**I'm addicted to Garry's Mod again. I sort of built my own combination of addons that've made the perfect remastered version of Gmod. For those who play and want a good taste of mods, here's some of what I got:**

**GM+ - Improved Interactive First Person kind of addon. Amazing quality, 100% customizable**

**Life - Kind of a legal SweetFX for Gmod; Improved textures, allowance of Ultra quality textures, models, etc., automatic HWM models, improved light rays, color correction. I love it**

**S.M.A.R.T. - Smooth Movement Across Random Terrain. Parkour mod based off Rift, I think. Combined with one or two generic Parkour mods and it works great**

**Anyways, I was wondering how you guys like the flow of the story so far. Is it taking to long for 'shit to hit the fan' or is it fun learning more about the mercenaries? Opinions on our new BLU Scout? Ask anything!**

**Enjoy**

**Act I Act II (Part 2)**

**A1A2**

* * *

**Dell: Send those damn BLUs to Hell**

* * *

You proceed to do so.

The Mini-Sentry immediately targets the first one out of the gate, which happens to be the Scout, Katelyn. You manage two shots on her before Misha's minigun mowed her down. Then the rest of BLU rushed in. Hiding behind your improved sentry, you were able to take down the Demo, Pyro, and Soldier as well. The enemy Heavy turned towards you as the Sentry targeted him and was immediately destroyed. "I think you need to build diaper changing station, coward!" he yelled. Shit, this is going to get a bit close. With the rest of your team distracted with the remaining and Respawning BLUs, you begin to go one-on-one with the beast. Your Gunslinger locks up a lot if you punch too much, and can cause some serious damage on the third hit. He takes a swing at you, and you barely roll out of the way. While he turns, you land a clean hit on his cheek. _Pow_.

You didn't notice him immediately swing the opposite way along with your swing as his massive fist came down on your chest. You careened back into the fence, dizzy but OK. Another hit to his kneecap brought the giant down in pain. Behind you, there was a tiny silence as the remaining BLUs were either in Respawn or coming back. You swung hard into the Heavy's jaw as the metal hand spun into the punch, and it snapped through, the jaw now hanging torn and bloodied. A shot to the skull also finished the job. You turned to your team for the brief calm. Everyone except Travis was still around the point, the Xenomorph in a dark corner at the edge of the gates. Tavish looked quite beaten, but Myrian was quickly on him with the Medigun. His stickybomb traps were set off early by the BLU Sniper, the damn drunk not paying attention. But soon Travis ran around the corner, fresh from Respawn, and just about the same time the enemy Soldier, Pyro, and Medic came out. Damnit, you forgot your sentry was destroyed! You hurried to where it was in pieces to have something icy dig into your back followed by lots of gunfire and blackness. Great.

* * *

**Respawn**

* * *

You opened your eyes again to Respawn. You hurried back out to hear the decloak of a watch. Aiming your Widowmaker, you scanned the narrow passageway to the first point to see François decloaking, covered in blood. "Apologies, the fraud Frenchman slipped by me," he said cooly, his butterfly knife red from the BLUs blood. Odds are he just managed to kill you before François got to him. "It's nothin', don't worry," you responded, knowing François's policy on being 'fashionably late' to help.

A concerningly large explosion surprised you both, as François dissolved into the air and fled. No doubt the BLU Medic is using his Kritzkrieg with the Soldier. You turn the corner to see them both on the point, trying to shoot the Xenomorph as she leaped around the walls, occasionally firing with her pistol. Almost better than a Spy, you stealthily snuck up behind the two BLUs, and pressed two red buttons on your Gunslinger. Almost immediately, the mini engine within kicked into overdrive, turning your robot hand into an organ grinder. You thrust it into the Medic, who didn't make a sound as the puncture hole in his back became bloody and gory with bits and pieces of his insides being flung out of the wound. Continuing to keep it spinning, you pushed through the German's body, and shoved it into the Soldier. He made much more audible cries as his intestines starting spitting out of his body from behind. You finished it by grabbing his spine, and in one hard jerk tore it out almost clean. His head even sunk in slightly as it disconnected forcefully from the spine, the nerves hanging off like string. Some of the muscles with connected tendons went with it, and his back twitched in weird ways as those muscles snapped off and tore.

If this wasn't the same BLU Soldier that found joy out of blowing people to bits and using their spines as a weapon, you'd be horrified. But hey, this just another day at work. The problem was now getting your hand out of the Soldier and Medic's body. Placing your free hand on the dead Medic's back, you began tugging hard as you loosened your robot hand from the insides. With one powerful tug, you yanked it out finally, bringing organ bits and flesh with it. It was like Mick's second favorite rifle, the Machina. It did more damage at its exit hole than its entry hole.

As your team finally got a chance to get itself together, you began rushing towards their entrance, a fresh Toolbox in hand. "Come on, boys!" you shouted, "le's shut em out!" You team began following you, and you threw down a new Alternium core Mini-Sentry just as the Respawn room opened to their BLU Spy. The Sentry fired at him just as he thrusted a Sapper down on it, but it kept firing. You noticed the look on his face go from determined to confused to horrified as it riddled his body with bullets. Breaking the Sapper with a mighty punch you watched as the BLU fell, and Misha forced their Respawn door open again to the surprised BLUs.

As weapons went off like crazy and the BLUs died, your team rushed forward to take back the lost territory before BLUs Respawned or forfeited further back. You noticed, however, that the BLU Scout's female screams was not among the other's screams of death, and come to think of it, Travis was nowhere to be found after Respawning. Where did those two get off to? You had known that work-wise they were massive rivals, but if any relationship started it would be very bad, according to the Administrator. Sure, all it took was bringing Jane over to RED to keep his friendship with Tavish from interfering with the war, but Helen wouldn't dare do it a second time with Kate or Travis. That would be ridiculous.

Right?

* * *

**François: Do sneaky Spy stuff.**

* * *

You are yet again François Lawrence. You damned handsome man. You just finished dragging the unconscious bodies of Travis and Kate to a secret barn far away from the battlefield. Yes, it's a horrible thing to do, and yes, you had better things to do other than break the law and kidnap the Boston Bozo and the Albany Asswipe, but this was at the request of the Administrator herself, Helen. It was her final test to see if it'd be worth it to swap Katelyn over to the REDs. It would certainly solve the problem of only having one Xenomorph when the alien could simply be used better than as a 10th class. Perhaps as an assistant for Pauling, she had said. You didn't care. Travis's work has definitely been affected by Kate, though. He's no longer the first to points, he's sluggish on the field, and he always hesitates to fire around her. This would be a test to see who'd kill who first. If Travis does his job and kills her, they'd stay on their respective teams and he would be rewarded. If Kate kills him or nobody dies, she's going to RED and Travis wouldn't get pay for a week. Because, as Helen stated it, "There's not enough good idiots out there for me to expend one."

The cameras were set up, and the two were loosely (On purpose) tied to a support pole. A few weapons and supplies were scattered and hidden in the barn, as well as food. Who knows, maybe they'll choke the other with poisoned food or something. Although, they'd be unconscious for at least an hour. You weren't as gentle as you planned with hitting each with a brick. Of course, it was half payback. Last Smissmass Travis had the idea to reinvent mistletoe. Except, instead of what's normal the two under the mistletoe would then have to make traps to knock the other out or kill them with a brick by the end of the day. It was stupid, but that was before mercenaries started placing bets (Courtesy of you). This was your opinion of his 'idea,' even if it made you €750 and $230 richer.

Nonetheless, you decided to see what your team was up to. You're certain you heard the Announcer declare victory, which is strange. Matches never end so quickly. However you decided to see how much territory your team got back today anyway. You also thought today wouldn't be a bad day to walk back. Normally you'd use Conagher's Portable "Eureka Effect" Auto-Respawner, which allowed teammates to teleport instantly back to Respawn. Great for the defense classes if there needs to be a last minute save, but you had one simply for leisure. But you kept it in your pocket, and left the barn. Outside, surprisingly, wasn't barren desert. In fact, the barn was past a small forest with quite a few dense patches of trees. You assume there is a massive water reservoir below, otherwise it'd have to be magic, and... ugh...

You _hate_ magic. You hate just about every Halloween after Silas Mann because of it. Myrian and Conagher found a scientific reason as to why the Horsemann attacks the Mann Manor (It is a curse, yes, but not necessarily a 'magic' one). You especially hate Jane's damned former wizard roommate, Merasmus. Tavish found the wizard's Bombinomicon book a long time ago, and when he opened it, it took his eye and made Monoculus. A goddamn rocket launching eyeball. Then Soldier made a raccoon sanctuary in Merasmus's yard, burned his body, and took his home, which made the wizard attack - surprise, surprise - _every Halloween_. Then came the call from Redmond Mann's ghost to send Blutarch's body to Hell, through a newly constructed Hightower that conveniently had to deal with a poltergeist, spells, and the Skeleton King. Now you have the Semi-Haunted Carnival from the damned Canadian wizard. You hate Halloween. And you just about have a burning passion to hate Soldier. Even Wheatley could be a better Soldier.

Whoa, your Fourth Wall caught that before anything happened. Good, that was a close slip up. The Fourth Wall is an absolute necessity in the universe. One person is 'chosen' to guard and maintain it, and that person happened to be you. No surprise, there, though. None of the other mercenaries would be able to. They don't even know about the Fourth Wall. Only the chosen guard knows of the Wall. It's extremely secretive.

You really enjoyed these walks, though. You consider them a personal break. Who's to say you can't enjoy your day? You worked hard. You always do, being a Spy isn't child's play. However, it was a pain to have to actually reach your destination. Maybe one of these ceasefires you'll take the whole day off, talk off time for yourself. Go out as far as... maybe Hightower, then walk back and spend the day in your smoking room. It'd be nice to shut off your pager, that way none of those 'trolls' or your team could annoy you. Ah, that's right. you remembered you had your own personal mission. Find some Alternium. Hell, odds are Dell has some of it lying around somewhere. You know Misha has quite a lot of the rock in his quest to build an Alternium minigun, but you wouldn't dare touch it. _Nobody_ touches the Heavy's gun.

You exit the forest to be greeted by the barren lands outside of Dustbowl. You started the battle at the very last two control points, but as your randomly critting weapon is telling you, the REDs must have held off the BLUs well. Crits... you never understood them. Just random moments where weapons go into some kind of overcharge and it does way more damage than it does normally. Dell can't find a reason why, and everyone just... lives with it, you guess. After all, a random crit wouldn't disadvantage you, so it's not really a problem.

But it seemed like the REDs were still pushing forward from sound alone, probably reclaiming lost territory, so you returned to base to begin your search. Walking by the last point, you took caution not to go under the massive, secured rocket directly. Fumes almost always seep out from its engines, and you'd rather not inhale it. It makes you feel sick for the rest of the day. You stepped inside the base, the clean, white room dead of activity. Curious, you opened a resupply locker to find it almost completely full. It seems only a few of your teammates Respawned at all since you left. Impressive. You stepped to the back of the room to the Base Teleporter. You put in the code for 2Fort on the keypad, and started the machine. It began to whir beneath you, and soon you were engulfed by the bright light of teleportation. You opened your eyes to the warm Respawn room of 2Fort, teleportation residue flaking off you. Ahhh. Home.

Walking - no, _strolling_ down the hall, you showed little interest for anyone's room. Instead, you went straight to the workshop. You felt around the floor for the raised plank of wood, pulling it back to see his spare key has gone missing. Strange. You'd always use it to sneak in. He must have caught on. You returned to your room, grabbing your thinnest knife, the Wanga Prick. It was pretty much an oversized voodoo pin that worked similar to Your Eternal Reward, instantly disguising on backstabs. You returned to the workshop door, and stuck the knife inside. You started wiggling it around until a satisfying click sounded. You pulled it out, turning the doorknob and entering.

Again, you were shocked. Everything was neat, put away, and for the most part, clean. No sentries or mini-dispensers lying around, no unwelded projects, nothing. You started going through everything, looking for something that ran on a source of power. You were certain he uses Alternium for almost everything. You noticed a large machine in the corner with a faint red glowing in its vents. On the side read "MIN-SENT. - ALT. CORES," with an especially amusing "Do NOT touch when on!" in red paint. It was almost like asking a kid not to touch everything in a candy store, except here it was asking the assassin to not take the shot. You opened the steel door to the boxlike machine, to find several clear chemical containers of what seemed to be liquid Alternium. On the top of the inside was a rotating claw with a barrel about the size of the containers, a light red glow bleeding from inside. Suddenly, the claw began to move, like some kind of carnival game, and it lowered onto a container. Assuming it was a Teleporter, you shielded your eyes just as the small, bright light flashed, and the container had disappeared, residue taking its place. You noticed a screen beep on the side, so you closed the door and found a small monitor on the side. It showed a small outline of a sentry, along with bars to show construction, ammo, and health. So now Dell's sentries ran off Australium. Interesting.

You opened the door again, grabbing a container at random. The core's outside was warm to the touch. Did it produce its own heat? You really wouldn't care to know. That's the childish work for Myrian or Dell. Odds are you could probably just dangle a beaker over their heads and they'd grab for it and want to make some stupid thing out of it. That... sounds interesting to do. You'd probably do it if they had just a bit less common sense. You closed the door again, leaving everything as it was, and, using a trick that you've mastered over time, relocked the door with your Wanga Prick. You then proceeded to your Smoking Room, placing the core behind your stack of Dapper Cadaver issues. You pause to admire the stack of elegant magazines. Normally, you wouldn't care to glance at a magazine, but it was the perfect read for your leisurely time.

Enough admiration. While you would prefer to stay and read, you remember you've been away from the battlefield for quite some time. Also, there were two idiots tied in a barn you had to occasionally keep an eye on. You kept the core hidden, despite knowing nobody else comes in here. It was just your Smoking Room, but the others borderline feared it. No real reason, mostly because you had every tool of sabotage at your disposal. You took your time gathering weapons as you went back to the 2Fort Base Teleporter and teleported back to Dustbowl.

* * *

**François: Be someone else**

**[]: Be the Albany Asswipe**

**[]: Don't miss**


	9. Act 1 Act 2 Part 3

**Glad I got this done before the holidays!**

**Side note: I'm not gonna be one of those guys that add a random, completely unnecessary and senseless chapter for the holiday season. I might implement Smissmass if I like this year's stuff. **

**Also, to the Wolf God: I saw what you said, and frankly, I have no idea if I'll continue Different. If I do, I'm starting over. The story's gone crappy, I don't like how many character perspectives I burn through, and it seems like it's getting really confusing. I'm not abandoning it; I'm just preparing for a re-do, just like I did with Jason. **

**Hope you like shits and giggles cameos. **

**Act I Act II (Part 3)**

**A1A2**

* * *

_**[]: Don't miss**_

* * *

Steady... to the left...

_Boom_. Headshot.

You are now Mick Mundy, Australian and RED Sniper. At least, most of your team calls you Mick. Demo thinks your name is Ricky for some reason because your first impression back in the day reminded him of some Ricky Gervais guy. And yeah, you have an alliterate name. Big deal.

The BLU Pyro jerked back as his forehead exploded in blood from the Machina round. Then the Heavy and Medic behind him almost lost their head entirely from the neck level shot. Killed three birds with one hypothetical, instantaneously fired stone. Not bad. The other REDs rushed forward onto the last point as you leaned back against the small shed wall, reaching for your mug to see it empty. You've already run out of coffee, which was surprising considered your team successfully backcapped from last point all the way to first in less than ten minutes. It's literally never happened before.

Once the BLUs no longer Respawned in their offensive base, your teammates began walking back, victory plastered on their faces. Their smug looks always were hilarious. You didn't know anyone else that got so much of a thrill out of absolute clusterfucks than these guys. Travis wasn't with them, but odds are he took a stray rocket to the face. He is the first one to the front, but that just means he can also be the first to die. You began walking back with your team, the three-quarter-mile hike to base to Teleport to 2Fort. It was your home base, and frankly, it was your favorite. It wasn't as warm as Australia, but it was still pretty damn hot. You also enjoyed picking off desert animals outside of the battlefield at 2Fort. You really didn't have many 'normal' hobbies, now that you think about it. Of course, you do store your piss in jars and throw it at people, but it's quite handy for putting out a fire. Everyone on your team can at least say that.

Once at the base, you all mostly went about on your own. You put your weapons away in the Respawn locker, however your Kukri stayed on your belt. You went everywhere with it. Rather than change into more casual wear, you walked by your room, grabbed a cup and a half-full pot of dark coffee, and poured yourself a treat. You had a bit of an addiction to coffee. It's ironic how tall and lean you are when coffee supposedly makes you grow less or even be shorter. It was from the same doctor that told you not to take Jarate pills whatsoever, but hey! You can do whatever you want. You kill for a living! And you get paid to!

After a refreshing cup of coffee, you took a stroll back to your room. Everyone was more or less staying to themselves, and you didn't mind all that much. You are quite antisocial. You never understood why people have a need to gather and practically yell over each other. It's so inefficient and, frankly, you didn't have that many people to socialize with. Sure, you've known Dell and Tavish your whole life, and even Travis isn't too bad of a friend, no matter how annoying he gets. You see him almost as a younger brother. He can agitate the hell out of you, yes, but you really don't mind, you guess. There's something about the kid that just makes him fun to hang around with, annoy, or just about anything else.

Anything a friend would do. _That's it._ It's a good friend kind of deal and that's it, got it?

Now that you got that out of the way (Who the bloody hell were you saying that too anyway?) you stepped outside the base and climbed a latter to the roof. There, you had a great view of the surrounding desert of white, orange, and yellow, and the BLU base just across the bridge connecting the teams. The BLUs... They aren't bad people, no, you wouldn't say they are, they're here money and security like you are, in exchange for participating in a seemingly endless war over gravel. Sure, the BLU Soldier and Heavy are probably just in it for murder and defending whatever the hell they were told about Builder's League, and their Medic's probably flat-out insane, but other than that it's all for the money and the killing.

You felt the noontime sun beat down on you as you relaxed in a chair you nailed up here. It's aimed so that you can recline back and take a nap without falling off. It's not luxury, but it's still pretty damn nice after any day of work.

You were kind of curious about your team's Scout. Where was he? He wasn't around for a lot of the backcapping, which is practically his thing entirely. And Kate didn't show up at all with the other BLUs. Perhaps they snuck out. It's about time the boy could have bragging rights-

What's this? Your pager started beeping. You sat up and pulled it out of your pocket to investigate. It's... fucking hell.

_bucketsAnonymous [BA] has started pestering headDundee [HD]_

BA: SNIPER

BA: ANSWER IMMEDIATELY

Ughhhh... maybe... maybe if you just...

BA: DO NOT HIT THAT POWER BUTTON SNIPER

Damnit.

HD: What do you want

BA: WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY. I NEED YOUR RECON SKILLS TO HELP

HD: What exactly do you mean by emergency mate?

BA: MY BUCKET

BA: IT'S GONE

HD: What a shame

BA: HELP ME LOOK FOR IT

HD: Nah, Im good

BA: HOW DARE YOU FUCKING SAY NO TO YOUR TEAM CAPTAIN

HD: I didn't. We don't have one.

BA: YOU SON OF A BITCH JUST LOOK FOR MY BUCKET WHILE YOU'RE OUT THERE

You took a quick look to the empty battlefield. There was a bucket placed on the side of the BLU wall, with a mop in it. There's always odd things lying around.

HD: Found it

BA: GREAT

BA: BRING IT DOWN TO ME ASAP

_bucketsAnonymous [BA] has stopped pestering headDundee [HD]_

Great. Well, you probably aren't going to come back up after getting Jane his stupid bucket, so you decided to stay a bit longer.

...

And the pager beeps more. Damnit.

You get up, sliding down the roof to land on your Sniper deck. Carefully, you jumped down and walked across the bridge. The BLUs should be in their own base doing god-knows-what (Nothing, like you), so you walked over and dumped the mop out of the bucket. Jane didn't pay much attention to buckets and whether or not they really are his. As long as it's a bucket, he thinks it's his.

You walked back inside the base, the soldier standing at attention at the entrance. He smirked as you approached with the bucket, and snatched it from your hands. "Good work, Private," he said/yelled in your face, "I might promote you to Private _First_ _Class_." You rolled your eyes, very much tired of Jane's military bullshit. You doubt he was ever in the army, it was probably just a stolen uniform he had, or a costume or something.

That's another thing you didn't get about people. Cosplay, or whatever. You've heard people like to dress up like some character and act like them, and... why? Why is there so much confusion in being social? Sure, you have all the items for a Robin Walker Sniper outfit, and almost everyone in the base is a believer of Panism (Hail Pan), but they have reason. Walker was a king among Snipers, practically. And then Panism is just one of the common beliefs around here. Panism, Hamism, and now Hammerist Pan was around. The belief is that everyone is here on this planet for the sole purpose of panning all enemies, led by the son of Pans, Bakin Greese. The other two are, in your opinion, just stupid.

...Wow. You get quite off-track.

You really need something to do before you start questioning life and the universe.

**_Mick: Be the Albany Asswipe_**

* * *

You now have something else to do.

For example, wonder why your head is pounding and you feel like absolute shit.

You are now Katelyn Toriez, the Scout of Builder's League United. You are the newest mercenary on your team, and assuming from your job report you're the youngest here at all at 19 years old.

Job... Heh. You never thought this would be your job. You had no interest in military, or fighting in general. Even though you practically grew up on guns, it was just never your thing. You were more into parkour and exploring than most people in the city. That's how you met Pauling. After having so many job offers turned down, Mann Co. seemed like the best option. Great pay and a supposed great use of your agility led to you being here now.

Well... with a job. You have no idea what the hell you're doing tied to a pole with a pounding headache. Painfully, you lifted your head to look around. Surrounding you was the massive, dark, ominous walls of what had to be the biggest barn you've seen. There were even closed off places at the walls that most likely were separated rooms. With the size of the barn was the mass of things lying around. A tractor missing its rear wheels, broken RED and BLU building parts, some offhand tools that could easily be weapons, and piles of crates littered the space, and were easy to spot. You did notice, however, small signs on all the doors to the wall-rooms. The closest said "FOOD/COOKING." Your stomach began to growl in response as you realize how starved you are.

You spent so much time observing the strange barn you forgot you were tied to a freaking support pole. You should probably do something about that.

While the rope keeping your hands tied to the pole is tight, you do manage to wriggle one hand free. With that one, you yank the ropes apart and jump up to a low, disturbing growl of some sort. You freeze, your eyes darting everywhere to find the source. It's a while before you hear it again. The deep rumble sends a chill down your spine. You inch towards the room of the source, marked "MEDICAL." The sounds inside sounded more and more inhuman. You reach for your pistol, to find nothing in your holster. Looking around, you spot a beaten, light aluminum bat.

Slowly, the door creaked open, the hinges protesting. The inside was almost pitch black, the growl louder than ever. You noticed a dark form on the wall bed... thing... you're not sure what they are. They're the beds at doctor's offices that they have you sit on for check-ups. You're not sure. But there's something on this one. Despite your entering, it remained motionless. The growls sounded more like snores now that you actually payed attention to it. Maybe it was sleeping. It was your chance to catch it by surprise. But, now that you look at the sleeping form in the dark, you start thinking it might not be a threat. It'd probably suck if you ended up beating the shit out a teammate, no matter how much they deserved it. Better to be safe.

You felt the walls carefully for a switch of some sort, pausing every once in a while to keep an eye on the figure. Finally, you found it by a counter, and flipped it on. Almost immediately, the lights flashed on, and you shielded your eyes briefly as they adjusted to the sudden light. The figure jolted up behind you, and you heard the startled yell of surprise as you turned to face Travis, the RED Scout.

* * *

**_Kate:_**

**_Beat the shit out of him_**

**_Don't hit him_**

**_Escape_**

**This'll be the first time your decisions will change the story. Enjoy!**


	10. Act 1 Act 2 Part 4

**What is this place...**

**Seriously, it's been such a long time since I've been on here! I've been doing so much since I last put up anything. I've been practicing my SFM skills, working on 3D models, and getting back into Titanfall and Natural Selection 2.**

**people still play that amirite**

**Nonetheless, I want to keep this up. It's nice to be able to always have something to work on that I know people will actually read. Between this, school, and 3D work, however, I will definitely slow down. Not too much, though. **

**Act I Act II (Part 4)**

**A1A2**

* * *

**Kate: Don't hit him**

* * *

Well, there isn't much choice now.

Travis almost immediately jumps off the bed, standing defensively. The two of you are at somewhat of a standoff before you sprint for the door. The RED tries to catch up but you slam the door in his face just in time. The door shakes as his body smashes into it uselessly, and he makes a small yelp in shock, followed by a string of curses. "Fuck, you broke my nose!" you hear from inside, and you press yourself against the door as he continues to push against it. After a final, powerful hit, he stops. You wait for a bit longer before deciding that it's safe to move away. The muffled groans and curses get softer, and you assume he's given up. You find several heavy Crates (Damn, they're old. They're made of some kind of metal and look horribly beaten. Maybe if you find their keys you could see what's inside) and block the door with them. Unless there's a Rocket Launcher or a Heavy hiding in there, Travis isn't going to get out any time soon.

Now that you have a remote sense of safety, you look around and think of a way out. At first sight it looks like four massive walls with absolutely no entry or exit. You might have to go through everything carefully to find an exit later. Maybe it was a bit harsh to lock Travis in the medical room with a busted nose. What if he knows how to get out?

Nah, fuck him. Surely there's enough in there to keep him entertained.

You begin walking around the giant barn/warehouse. You have absolutely no idea what the fuck this place is. It looks huge, disturbing, abandoned, and dark. Coincidentally, those adjectives almost define some of your favorite places, but not when you're imprisoned in them. Then it's just not fun. The second you get out of here, someone's gonna have to answer a few questions. Maybe you can knock some answers out of Travis.

Goddamnit, you pick on him too much. He's not that bad of a guy. You've just been beating each other's skulls in so much that it's almost boring.

_Almost_.

Your stomach rumbles in protest to your obvious ignorance to it. You doubt there'll be unspoiled food anywhere here, but it wouldn't hurt to poke around. You spot the cooking room again and decide it's best to head there first. Slowly, you open the door with a soft squeak in return, and feel around the wall to find the light switch. Sure enough, your hand skims over it, and with a flick the lights in the room turn on, only for them to go out with a pop. You mutter a silent curse to yourself as you exit the dark space.

Seriously, is every room in this damn place pitch black inside? It's almost as if the rooms absorb any light that enters. Which would be really creepy, but that's beside the point. You need to find a flashlight, or some light source so you don't trip on something. You begin to take quick glances around clutters of objects, looking for anything that may seem useful. Piles of crates aside, everything was either unusable or generally unhelpful in your quest for light. With each walk to each pile or mess, you grow more and more frustrated. Why is it so hard to find just a light inside a warehouse this big?! Just something that could give you light, that's all, and you'd be happy.

It's had to have been at least an hour since you woke up before you give up. Your stomach growls even louder now, but you honestly don't care right now. You can feel a headache coming on, and begin to moan in annoyance. Once you get a headache, it almost never wants to go away. They even carry over after death. You swear, these headaches are gonna kill you for-

Oh. You just notice the helmet lamp on the crate as you started to lean against it. It looks like the Mining Light your Engineer wears, except a more pale blue than your team's colors. Flicking it on, you sigh in relief as the light shines brightly in front of you. You put the hat on as you return to the cooking room, the light flooding the area ahead of you. Pots and pans reflect the light back and illuminates the room a bit more. You start opening cabinets and cupboards to find them either empty or filled with spoiled food. You open a fridge to find it mostly filled with cans of Bonk!, in a multitude of flavors. You do your best not to shudder in disgust. That radioactive shit is the most revolting substance you've ever come across. You have no idea how Travis can drink that shit.

You finally come across a Mann Co. Edible Munitions Crate, and use the bill of your hat like a crowbar and attempt to pry the top off. Keys are almost non-existent for these things, so they started putting "USE FORCE TO OPEN" on them, although this one doesn't seem to have that mark. You assume it must be an older one. Luckily, the 'Edible Device' inside never expires. With one final push down on the hat, the top pops off and the hat almost smacks you in the face. You shine inside to find three Fishcake, several containers of Sandviches, and a small box of Dalakoh's treats. You grab two wrapped Sandviches and a Dalakoh's Dark Chocolate Bar. One Sandvich and the bar for you, and the other Sandvich for Travis. Now that you can get some food in your system, you begin to think about Travis. It was kind of a dick move to break his nose and lock him in a room, especially with how shitty the lights are here. But you won't just let him out yet. He's probably still in the mood to kill you. But still, you moved the Crates away from the door as quietly as possible. The only to get the Sandvich in there with him would be to open the door. You slowly open the door to see Travis facing the opposite direction, slouched with some kind of immobilized Medi Gun aimed on him, a weak green stream flowing out of the nozzle and dissolving into his body. The glow and sound of the device most likely distracted him from hearing you. You could hear him mumbling cheap insults to nobody, most likely for you. Carefully, you place the Sandvich on the ground, step back slowly, then slam the door closed, pushing the Crates in front of it before he tries to open it. You get the last Crate in the way just as banging comes from the other side.

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing, huh?!" Travis yells as he pounds on the door. You're worried he might manage to get the door open when he suddenly stops. "What's this..." he says, and you can hear the Sandvich wrapping crinkle as he picks it up. After a long pause of nothing, you hear a quiet "Nom" as he begins to eat the Sandvich. "Oh, fuck wow," he says. You can relate to his reaction. Mann Co. must have the best ingredients on Earth, because there's no sandwich in existence than a Mann Co. Sandvich. You're almost certain Heavies are required to have culinary background of some sort, because any food a Heavy makes, especially a Sandvich, is almost perfect. Even when you take Sandviches from the RED Heavy after a kill, they're just as good. Maybe if your BLU one wasn't so damn stupid, he'd teach you how to make them.

"Uh... th-thanks..." you hear from inside, "still, go fuck yourself." You smile as you finish up the Dalakoh's Bar, having already eaten your Sandvich. He'll be fine as long as that Medi Gun works. Just from looking at its beam you could tell it'd be slow to fix his nose.

With nothing more to do, and from being exhausted by the last battle (You had to have Respawned at least four times before waking up here. That's a new low for you), you find decently comfortable looking bales of hay, and lay on them as you drift off

* * *

**Katelyn: Be Dell**

* * *

You are now Dell Conagher. That had to be the shortest battle you've had since you first joined. In only three minutes you not only defended the final point, but you gained all territory back to the BLUs makeshift assault base. Now you get an entire day to...

Hot damn, you had nothing planned today, did you? You assumed you'd have another massive stand-off today. You double-check your workbook for today, and sure enough the entire day had "CP GRAB" scribbled in your writing. You could always send Mann Co. blueprints for new Australium weapon frames, but that really wouldn't be worth it in your opinion. Australium is a valid resource for power, if there was enough to make so many weapons out of it, why not power actually useful things out of it? You could very well extend life with its capabilities. That's one thing your favorite red rock can't do, or at least not yet. In your attempts to liquify Alternium, it either turns to pure magma and hardens to a useless, gray block, or does nothing new that it didn't before. Australium is definitely more versatile in its uses.

You assume you could experiment more with Alternium. You have the day off now and it's a great chance to work on new buildings, improve on your old ones, and-

Oh fuck it, you want to send that damn arm through the Teleportifier.

You swing the door of your workshop open to find Fritz lying on the bench. "Damnit, girl," you say, gently picking the cat up, "yer mommy's home early." You bring her to Myrian's office, and leave her there, the Medic most likely almost there. You hurry out, striding quickly to your workshop. You slam the door hard once there, and pick the arm up off a prototype Dispenser as you turn the Teleportifier on (All in about 12 seconds). Sloppily cleaning any dirt off the machine, you write for the first time on your log for using the Teleportifier with something biotic.

_Day 43_

_-PROJECT SPACERACE-_

_NOTE: Get better project name_

_-ENTRY-_

_Teleportifier stable. 95% efficiency, will fix. First time use on organic tissue, preparing._

You set up the internal counterbalance systems and adjust odds and ends as the massive teleporter glows that familiar red. You message your alien friend to turn their teleporter on and the machine turns green on the display for "RECEIVING." Holding the Sniper arm in your hand, you carefully place it on the center of the machine, then step back as it slowly starts to rotate. The arm spins at first, too, but begins to rise as the plates rotate faster. You shield your eyes as it reaches its desired speed, and a quick flash later, the arm is gone. Your excitement slowly degrades down to worry now that the fun part ended. Now it's a matter of waiting for them to receive it.

You might be here for a while.

* * *

**Dell: Explore the base**

**Dell: Build a level 3 Mini-Sentry**

**Dell: [Sample Text] it up**


	11. Update - Bad News

Unfortunate news.

I've been working extra hard to write chapters. I had 6 chapters for All the Difference written up and ready to upload, and I had the next chapter and three branching chapters done for Fortressbound. I had all of these chapters saved to my Notes on my iPhone. It makes it easier to write stories whenever I have time to, and they're easy to upload. However, my iPhone had completely crashed recently, and I had to restore it to factory default. With no backup and absolutely no idea of why it crashed in the first place, I pretty much lost all of my stories. Completely.

Am I upset? Yes, but I'm certainly not going to just give up. After all, these are my stories, I made the plot, damnit.

But it will take some time to... collect, after this. It's definitely going to take some time to go back through the stories and rewrite them. In my head, it's playing out more complex than the Legend of Zelda timeline. I'll probably just reread the stories to remember exactly where they leave off. It'll be a good thing, considering it gives me a chance to check for grammatical errors, any confusing portions, or general areas that can be better written.

It's just been pretty tough for me. I'm spending more time working on animation and 3D modeling, and as the projects I make build up, so do the issues and frustrations. I spent the past 43 hours waiting for a large project I've been working on to finish rendering in 3DS Max, when the program suddenly crashes at the last frame, corrupting the entire video and leaving it unplayable. So now, I have to go through it and figure out why it happened, then re-do it all over again... I also have been working on an SFM project that has been continually crashing on me due to a significant lack of stability on SFM's part. School projects on Microsoft Word keep corrupting or just disappearing on me, Garry's Mod's been bugging out continuously, I've been anxious about whether not my job application will be accepted, I'm nervous about driving, and my Project M was corrupted after my brother put a different game in the Wii that overwrote almost everything on the SD card. To some that might mean nothing, but Project M/Smash Bros is a very important thing for me. I had replays, a completed challenge panel, and Classic completed on hard with almost every character. And all of it is wiped out now.

Again, I'm not just going to give up and leave these stories to rot, but I need to get myself together and find time to write again. I'm juggling too much right now to focus on one thing, and writing stories is definitely not on the top of the list. But eventually, I'll update everything, back up all of my chapters, and get back to writing. I've grown to enjoy writing too much to just give it up now.

Sorry for me taking so long to update anything.


	12. Act 1 Act 2 Part 5

**Whew, it feels good writing again**

**However the thing kind of weirded out when I uploaded this. If a sentence or even a couple of words seem out of place, just let me know. **

**Act 1 Act 2 Part 5**

**[Sample text] it up**

* * *

Motherfucker, you don't need to be told. 420 blazing, Mum Get The Camera, 2hot2furious. You're fucking beast enough already. And all you've done is sit inside some shitty base.

You are now Dave motherfucking Strider, the badass Pyro of the RED team. You are the hottest thing to step into this base, puns aside, and are pretty damn proud of it. You brought the Wombo Combo to real life, wear some sick shades beneath the mask, and have the second largest collection of shitty swords in the world, conveniently placed in a fridge. Not on purpose, though, you mean to give them a more ironic place to be kept. With a Degreaser flame thrower that shines red, a Flare Gun that shines red, and a Powerjack that shines red, you are truly the most badass thing in this side of the country. Of course, you already knew all of this. You're the second coolest person in the world, and you live and breath irony, swords, and fire. You have all the hats. _All_ of them. But you choose to wear three specific hats: clothes Mann Co. called the "Pyromancer's Rainments," a hood they named the Pyromancer's hood, and a cow skull-ish thing called the Pyromancer's Mask. Why? Well, you are a pyromancer. When you joined the RED team ironically, this class spoke to you. You knew you belonged there (ironically, of course), and took the job immediately.

If only they didn't stick you with Travis.

Travis, the motor-mouthed scrawny kid from Boston. You still aren't sure if his rhymes are legitimately shit or ironic. If they're ironic, you'd reach a new level of respect for him, but you really don't think they're ironic. Or thought-out. They're more half-rhymes than anything. Whatever. You're too busy toying with your turntables to think about something like that. You do wonder, however, why everyone seems to have either something broken or something to tinker with at calm times. It's almost like someone higher up was too lazy to be interesting. Or they're being ironically shitty. Props to you, ironic higher being. You return to your turntables. They haven't been working too great since Travis touched it; he helped you move it once and it hasn't been the same since. That's why you don't let him touch it. Ever. You begin thinking of really simple ways to fix it, because you can't find anything physically wrong with it. And you've had Dell look at the electronics and even he agrees they're acting strange. Hmm... maybe you could replace some of the more simple electronics, or just keep it in Music Mode.

Your turntables come in three rather idiotically-named modes: Music, Fire, and Time. You have no idea how Time Mode works, and you can't use Fire Mode all that much. You shut the system off, then turn it back on in Music Mode. Almost instantly, the flip-up screen's red backlight shines onto the turntables. Of course. You can accept having them not do crazy pyrotechnic shit for a while. You plug headsets into the side and practice some sick art for a while before you faintly hear a knock on the door through the ill beats. You shut the turntables off and slide them under your bed, replacing the headphones with your uniform mask. "Come in."

Jane, dressed in old work jeans and a wife beater, steps in, and you watch him hesitate to talk. You follow his eyes as they look around the base's spare room. While your side of the room you share with Travis is ironically amazing, this spare room is genuinely amazing to you. Nobody complained when you called dibs on the room your first day. Nobody has a reason to go in here, there's no paint that can accidentally burn the base down, and nobody bothered you. Typically.

"Er..." his hesitation was replaced immediately by his expressionless mask. "Good work today, soldier. We will be holding a celebratory gathering tonight before we plan for further battles. I expect everyone there at 0830." With a short nod, he steps out and closes the door. You barely registered what he said. Blah blah, party at 8. You decide you lack the effort to bring the turntables back out and figure out why the other mode doesn't work, and instead do the best motherfucking flip off the bed, landing like a fucking pro in front of the door, and calmly open it. Peeking out, you see an empty hallway. Now, what were you going to do? The guys are probably going to be playing cards, but it wouldn't be as much fun unless they were going to start drinking. It's much easier to cheat then.

Oh yeah, you forgot you don't have to cheat. _You can control time. _

Without a second thought, you stroll down the hall and swing the door wide open to the rec area. Mick, Tavish, Misha, and François look up to see you, all sitting around a circular, old table. You look down to see the playing cards in their hands as Mick mutters under his breath. You pull up a chair and sit down, Tavish moving to give you room. You wait patiently for them to finish before joining in. You smile under your mask as Misha deals. Almost immediately, Mick folds, saying it's "not worth it." Had you not joined, he would raise, having two sixes. You call, eyeing everyone as they check their cards. Tavish calls, François raises, and Misha folds. You're used to Tavish folding unless you yourself fold a lot, and instead raise. He grumbles as he, of course, folds. It leaves you with the frenchman. You haven't even checked your own cards, but you know you have two black sevens, and there's already a four and seven of hearts on the table. François checks. You raise. He checks again. So do you. The two of you flip your cards. You have two black sevens, as predicted. François has a five and eight of hearts. You see him both chuckle and eye your cards intently.

Misha flips the first card. A nine of spades. Neither of you react.

The second card is a five of diamonds. the Spy's eyebrow raises.

Misha pauses before he flips the final card. You already know what it is, but instead you watch François. The look of disappointment on his face was all you needed, because you know the six of hearts he wanted was in the middle of the deck, not in front of you face-up.

Nine of clubs.

Full house.

"_Merde_," he mumbles as you casually pull your winnings to you. Misha looks impressed overall, while Tavish and Mick seem like they were expecting it. "'M not even gonna bother," the Aussie grumbles, and grabs his small pile and leaves. Nobody says anything about it, though.

The next twenty-nine minutes and sixteen seconds pass by with no issues. The other three seemed to know your tricks of easily crushing anyone if they drink, and stayed rather sober. When it came down to you and Misha, it was an easy victory by a royal flush. Not one to be angered easily, the massive bear merely shook hands and left, leaving you twenty-five thousand dollars richer. Not bad. When you win poker, nobody stays mad for long, because then you use the money to go and buy things for everyone, whether it be weapons, hats, whatever. You may be a deceptive time-traveling cheater, but you're not an asshole.

You leave the mercs, heading down the hall to the base's Teleporter. You peak into your room to see Travis still missing. Where the hell has he gotten off to? It's not like you would know. You can travel through time, but you're not magic, damnit.

You continue down the hall, stopping near Dell's workshop at the Teleporter. It automatically turns on when you walk up to it. You smack the button that says "MANN CO.," and the machine begins to spin. You calmly step on and watch the world around you blink away before instantly returning to you. You look up to see a large window, with a billboard outside it that read "MANN CO. WAREHOUSE AND MERCENARY SUPPLIES." This is where mercenaries go and buy whatever they want. They can test run weapons, buy paint, hats, Keys, Machine tickets, or a portion of the copyrights to some Mann Co. Certified Taunts and Cooperation Activites. Turning around, you see the steel door to the Store within the massive building. The Teleporter is in a secret, cloaked room outside the building, so normal people outside can't see it or its passenger. You open the door to a massive hall of stands. Each class-specific and general stand has a Mann Co. employee, and a large room behind it filled with almost every item one could ask for (Aside from Golds, Australiums, and Unusuals; those are in Crates or found within piles of destroyed robots). You pass several stands before stopping at the Pyro stand. The employee was someone you've known since childhood, John Egbert. He's some weird kind of biologist that you never remember, and works for Mann Co. part time for miscellaneous jobs. You aren't sure how he got a job here, considering Mann Co. technically doesn't exist according to the world, but it's nice to know what he's up to these days. "Hey, Dave!" he says as you take your mask off, and you say hi back.

You have a typical back-and-forth conversation, "how's it going," "how's everyone back home," and whatnot. While you like the mercs for their humorous personalities, it's good to have a decent bro you go way back with. After buying 10 Keys and a few crafting recipes you wave goodbye to your friend and return the mask to your head, returning to the Teleporter. Once back at base, you immediately head down the hall to a worn, very old steel door. You brace yourself before entering, a cold blast of air penetrating even the tightest seals of your suit. A lone lightbulb shone down a dark corridor, just above a small button. You gently tap the button as that lone light is replaced by several, massive industrial lights shining down, flooding the hall in an intense light blue. At the far end, the hallway divides into two, longer halls. Lining this large back wall is nine steel, locked doors, a class emblem on each. You walk- no, you stroll, almost gleeful in an ironic way (of course), to the one with the emblem of a red circle with a lone flame within.

This is your Inventory.

Unlocking the door, you swing it open to reveal a massive room, lined with shelves of hats, weapons, and anything else you could think of. Some are for ironic purposes, of course, others you never plan to get rid of. Piled in the front are ten Salvaged Crates. Eight of them are for your teammates, two for you. You find your Gift Wrap in your Pile of Unbelievably Shitty Tools, and wrap a Key with each Crate, except for two. You decide to find a better time to unbox these two, not really in the mood to probably get shitty items you already have. You gently place them with all of your other uncommon/rare Crates. The wrapped gifts "magically" disappear, most likely in the other merc's inventories now. Of course, it's not magic. You know that. It's... uh... erm...

Fuck it, it's magic.

You leave your inventory, heading back to the rec room. Before you open the door to enter, you pause to listen to the riot going on behind it. Something must be up. Your curiosity leads you to open the door to everyone else around a table, practically at each other's throats.

Except Travis.

* * *

**Travis: Feel like shit**

Well, _that_ sure ain't hard to do.

Despite at least having the wimp excuse of a Medigun, you still feel like you were hit by a train. It's only added to after that shit Kate slammed a door in your face. Now, the excruciating broken nose she gave you has dulled to a throbbing face...ache. The gun isn't doing much for it either. You swear, the second you get out of here, you're gonna fuck her up so badly even Respawn will need a Respawn to keep it from breaking.

That... that sounded better when you thought of it at first. Now it just sounds horrible. And a little dirty. At least she gave you a sandwich. Speaking of, you forgot where you left the rest of it, and get up from the cruddy chair to look for it. You kinda threw a fit when you felt less like shit, and now stuff's all over the place. After slowly going through the mess, you find it as you left it; half-eaten, still partially wrapped up. Unlike the ones Misha makes, these don't magically heal you or whatever. It just tastes good. Considering it's been a couple of hours or so since the BLU locked you in here a second time, you decided to just eat it now. It'll probably be a while before anyone gets you out. Unwrapping the rest, your mouth begins to water just looking at it. Sandviches are like if Bonk Cherry and every deli shop back home came together and had a baby.

It tastes fucking good.

You barely give yourself a chance to breathe between bites, devouring the whole thing as you let out a powerful burp that just needed a reason to come out. Damnit, words can't express how good it is. If you could promote Sandviches without it ending up being like a Sham-Wow! commercial, you would. What the fuck is a Sham-Wow! anyway? Damned if you know, you just want to enjoy a sandwich and get the hell out of here.

Still in pain, you begin digging around for anything that might help. This Medi gun isn't worth jack shit, and does a crap job at fixing a paper cut, let alone healing a broken nose. Seriously, where the fuck is everything if this room's the fucking med-

Oh. You pick up a crossbow-like thing you recognize... Oh yeah, your Medic uses this a lot. It's the Crusader's Crossbow, and like everything else, it's fucking magic. It heals teammates with a big-ass needle and hurts enemies with the same big-ass needle. You're not sure how it works, and frankly, you don't want to know. You just hope it'll heal you. And hey, if it kills you, at least you'll Respawn. Slowly, you pick it up, eyes on the pulled bowstrings. You raise it to your head, hands shaking. You've been killed every imaginable way possible, what the hell is wrong with you? You've bled out for a solid twenty minutes, drowned, had body parts blown clean off, been run over by multiple tanks at once, and even Market Gardened by the BLU Soldier... the bastard managed to do it under water... But pulling the trigger yourself, even if it means you'll get to the front lines faster and restocked... It's scary. Getting killed is one thing; you can't control how fucked up you'll get from a stray rocket, or where a sniper is looking when you run around the corner. But self-Respawn... You know you're doing it. You know you're killing yourself, and that's something you will always remember after Respawn. If there was a way to bring the prototype Recall canteen from fighting robots into every battle, you'd gladly use it instead.

Alright, just get this over with. If it kills you... at least nobody will know. Katelyn, maybe, but she probably wouldn't care... Maybe?

_NO FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY, MAGGOT._

Ugh. You can hear Jane screaming his lungs out at you, back from a specifically painful lecture. Every fucking time you even think A LITTLE about the BLU, you have to remind yourself that the two of you kill each other almost daily, and that she's the enemy.

No matter how hot she is. That ain't necessarily bad for a rivalry. Fighting a hot chick every day is kinda fun.

With that final thought, you pull the trigger.

You hear the bowstring release, as the bolt-like needle slides through the chamber of the crossbow and...

Makes a dull thump as it sticks out of the side of your head. The pain immediately goes away, and you feel your nose almost immediately snap back in place and holy shit of course it healed you. It's a fucking RED team crossbow. Dumbass. You yank the needle out of your head as it harmlessly falls to the floor. Now you feel pretty damn good, and the painful throbbing on your head is gone, too. The lack of a severe headache helps you from thinking about Kate like that. Fuck her, she could be dead right now and you totally wouldn't care. Hell, maybe you'd use her body as target practice until it Respawns when you get out. Then you could catch up on everything back at base. You hate to admit it, but you miss your team a bit. You kinda miss that douchebag troll guy, too. While Jane's constant yelling and shit has become boring, this asshole was a whole new level of fun to fuck with. All of the alien bullshit he said was kinda funny.

You notice another needle/bolt on the ground next to where you found the crossbow. You decide you're not waiting around for someone to come anymore. Either you get the hell out of here, or the damn BLU's gonna keep you in here and kill you. You recall your Medic explaining to Dell how the actual bow on the crossbow can take a helluva lot of stress before breaking. Crossbow still in your hand, you jam the limb in the doorway. You hold the rest of the weapon like a crowbar in one hand as you turn the door handle with the other, and start prying the door open. After several pitiful attempts, you feel the door start to budge, as well as all of the shit on the other side. With one more Mann-worthy push, you hear multiple things fall down as the door flies open, sending you toppling forward. You pause, allowing yourself to get up. Kate is nowhere to be seen in the massive warehouse. Giving your eyes time to adjust to the much dimmer and larger area, you notice this warehouse has a striking resemblance to the training house everyone had to spend two days in before being accepted to the team. Just... a lot older-looking. Loading the one remaining needle into the crossbow, you carefully begin your search for the asswipe that locked you in there.

* * *

**No choices for this part**


	13. Please Understand

A while back I explained that my iPhone, which contained all of my stories and chapters, had to be reset, resulting in me losing everything.

I've looked into it, and discovered my iPhone simply suffered on iOS 7's behalf. The operating system simply isn't optimized for an iPhone 4, and it crashed. The boot files were likely corrupted, explaining why I couldn't restart my iPhone. But that's not what I wanted to talk about, even though it's probably the only reason I felt like I should bring this up. If you don't want to read all of this, or you simply don't care, at least consider reading the bottom.

* * *

It's been a long time since I've been on this website. I know my stories, but I often forget you guys have yet to see them. Yet to see what makes me love to write. When I write, my imagination gets a rare opportunity to come alive. Writing is what makes me feel comfortable showing who I am to the world. With friends and in games, I'm the loud, obnoxious one, cracking jokes all the time, because I know my friends. I know it's ok for my jokes to be outright stupid at times, because it's my friends, or just some people on the internet. That personality doesn't carry over to the real world. I'm shy, I'm always in the back of the class by choice, I don't volunteer. The real world scares me. I've seen what happens. I've seen things I wish I hadn't. Things I wished were just video games. Writing is different. When you write a story, anything that happens is entirely up to you. You don't have to worry about how a character acts, because it's your mind, your choice, and the only people affected by that choice is other characters in your story. You don't have to worry about it sucking, or if someone finds an action weird or 'different,' because you made it that way on purpose. All you have to worry about when you write is whether or not you spell a word right.

I can recall many times where I can say I went out of my comfort zone for something and was proud of the result. In elementary school, I remember signing up for Band in 4th grade. I was always drawn towards drums, but had no confidence in my playing. Now, I can play anything I want and just not give a damn. I remember playing Smash on the Nintendo 64 at my daycare in preschool. It led to me getting a Gamecube and a copy of Smash Bros Melee. Brawl of course followed on the Wii, but when it came to playing competitive, it happened again; I was worried I wasn't good enough. Now, I happily enjoy Project M and Smash 4 competitively. As a kid grateful to have a decent PC, I played Battlefield and Halo on it, almost exclusively. But I only played for fun. I'd play 2142BF just to enjoy the Titan mode. I played Halo 1/CE to death because of how much I adored being part of the community. But, soon BF Bad Company came along. All my 2142 friends soon moved to it's more serious style. Halo 2 came out for PC, and it was just too competitive and serious for me. As a kid with few social skills, I found things that made me show skill I had yet to perfect daunting. If you compared me as a kid to how I am today, it'd be like two different people: then, I was enjoying being the nerd kid, playing games because I thought they were just cool or because they were fun, in addition to zero musical or mental confidence; now, I'm playing CS GO competitively, planning my career to being an adult, learning guitar alongside playing in a senior school drumline, enjoying life and friends. Having a social life, even as frail as it is. It's something I wish I had as a kid. Because the only thing I ended up finding true confidence in was writing and drawing.

As a kid, not much phases you. You might write a poem for school, or draw a picture of your family, and Mom or Dad'll say they love it and stick it to the fridge. Are your writing/drawing skills great at a 2nd Grade level? Probably not. In fact, you'd have to be sugar coating saying those skills weren't good. But for me, that scared me. Knowing that writing and drawing, two things I felt were like breathing to me, were usually crappy at that age. It lead me to do almost nothing but read the hardest books I could find, get every drawing book I could get my hands on. I purposefully pushed myself to learn to write and draw to the best of my ability, and never stopped. It affected most of my life. I isolated myself from friends, ignoring them until I could get a type of shading right, or write an interesting page of fiction. I can count the amount of friends I had from preschool to middle school total with one hand of fingers. I hated feeling like I wasn't good enough at something, pushing away everything else to get it right, and it only comes to me now that I think about it that, sometimes, my overimagination and lack of confidence led to losing quite a few chances to better improve my life. I'd get 100s on tests, but grades would slip because I'm too busy doodling an idea I had in the margins of what would be that night's homework, or writing some silly story into the back of my binder, completely forgetting to write down anything at all for that class. I'd embarrass myself in class for drifting off. Do you know how it feels to have an entire class of judging faces stare at you as you struggle to answer the very first question because you simply couldn't hold your concentration? Not just once, but almost every day? It destroys any desire to speak up. I remember every year I'd be one row farther back in the class when we picked our seats. An entire life bound to the twisted focus I had, with minimal chance of enjoying a normal childhood. I'd get so focused on one thing, and still do today, I would forget everything else.

However, this lack of a 'normal' life led me to become very fond of the skills I did end up with. I could pick up any game and master it with minimal time, whether it be puzzle, fighting, shooter, etc. If I wanted to, I could learn everything possible about the game, and most likely exceed the skill of many friends that have played it longer than me. I became incredibly ahead of my art classes, twice skipping to higher grade art classes because my grade's class simply wasn't enough. I never had a writing assignment with a score below an A, sometimes going beyond the expectations and getting extra credit for many of them. I'm almost always at the top of my music classes, even helping the teacher when they can't explain or play something to another student. Of course, I also can't forget how I've taught myself how to 3D model and animate in little over a couple years from school computers alone. These are all the few things I can say I am proud of. They're what I can say "I know that, and I can do that" to. So when one of these skills are taken away, it's like if someone took out a large part of what makes you, well, you, and forced you to deal with it.

As a kid, I was incredibly fond of drums, as I mentioned. I could find a drum, pick it up, and play something I heard on the radio or something made up in my head with little difficulty. Noticing this, my parents bought me a full drumset. At the time, it was probably the best thing I ever received in my life. My sister got me a book full of drum rudiments, as well as sheet music for many rock songs. Within a few weeks, I learned these songs with little difficulty. The rudiments became second nature to me, as I practiced for almost an hour every night. However, this hobby became a chore as time went on. I wanted to take a small break from drumming to focus on other things, but my parents told me I had to practice every night, sometimes not allowing me to do anything else until I practiced my rudiments and songs for about 45 minutes. Within a few years, I went from loving my drumset to loathing it. Today, I have no interest whatsoever in touching that drumset, as it sits in the basement collecting dust, a drumstick bag with 40 pairs of drumsticks next to it, never to be used again. It became a part of my life I didn't want. And just like that, drumming became something I prefer not doing unless I'm alone, or in drumline at school. Video games were the same deal, however the loathing was my fault. I'd learn a game until I was able to master it, which means that if I couldn't learn it, I would get frustrated. It would nag at me, knowing I couldn't learn it. I hate Melee just as much as I love it. I absolutely crushed the single player portions of the games, and would typically win when I played casually with friends. But when I learned about l-canceling, wavedashing, multishining, and pivoting, they became the only thing I cared about in Melee. I didn't care if I won a game, I only cared if I won from whatever technique I'd try to use to teach myself these foreign gameplay mechanics, even though at a young age I simply didn't have the muscle reflexes to perform such quick maneuvers. To this day, I cringe to myself with every missed hit in Smash 4, or every missed tec or bad read, knowing I could have easily done better had I not done something stupid.

Writing and drawing mean a lot more to me, and it destroys me when something hinders my ability to do either.

As a kid with a DSi, it's safe to say I exclusively used it for Flipnote Studio. Flipnote was a 2D animation program where you would draw out whatever you wanted on to each frame, which would in turn be played like an animation, with the ability to add sound and color being additional features. I would spend day and night on animations, drawings, everything. It probably brought me the most joy at the time because you were able to upload your Flipnotes to a community called Hatena, where other animators could meet and share.

However, DSi's aren't meant to last. Buttons slowly stopped working, and the touch screen would become less responsive. I would do literally everything I could to get things working, but in the end, I was left with virtually no tools aside from the given pen sizes, a broken top screen, and an incredibly unresponsive bottom screen. It made making Flipnotes frustrating, almost pointless. Nothing I made had any polish, as I couldn't get precise with such a glitchy touchscreen, and I couldn't use in-tool features as they stopped working. I ended up seeing animating as a chore, something I just wanted to get done with.

Writing, however, meant much, much more. I have notebooks on top of notebooks of stories, scenes, ideas, characters, and plots absolutely filling every paper inside. It was probably the most worked-on thing I ever did in my life, writing those stories; designing those characters, making these complex storylines, they all felt the most important to me over everything. As time went on, I literally ran out of paper to write freely on. With no extra paper or notes to write stories on, the drive to write began to fade. It wasn't until I found this website that the old feeling came back. That old desire to write something great. Because when I wrote, I didn't care how it turned out, because it could always be changed whenever I felt like it. It led me to take a shot at writing, which paved the road for the L4D2 fanfiction 'Jason.' You wanna know how many times I've updated, replaced, and removed numerous chapters in that story? I do too, because I lost track of the countless times I've rewritten entire chapters to it. Even now, that story in my opinion is quite terrible. It was a rushed piece I wanted to write just to get it out there while the idea was fresh. There's a good chance I'll probably redo that story again, it always has room for improvement, as with any story. I grew to love it. I saw reviews by people on how they actually liked it. It was huge to me! All these old ideas, stories I thought were far too silly to actually dive deeper into, grew, and I began going crazy with this enjoyment of storywriting. I would start making schedules to keep track of what chapter I'd upload and when, when I would post a new story, when I could finalize storylines. When I could do this, when I could do that. When. When.

When I would desperately try to recover my notes when I realized my iPhone was basically ruined.

When I would become incredibly depressed, losing pages upon pages of stories I worked months on.

When I would consider giving up entirely on writing, as I have with so many other dreams.

When I would realize I was foolish to think it would get anywhere.

And yet... here I am. Relogging into this account, checking for anything I missed, catching up on old stories I never finished reading. When I saw my stories as I scrolled through L4D2 fanfics, they called out to me. "I'm still here," they would say. I couldn't watch them just become more unfinished fanfics, lost in this massive website. I decided then that, no matter what boundary, I'd rebuild. Writing became such a huge aspect of my life, I couldn't see it go to waste.

I'm not fully sure why I wrote this. I guess it's just something I needed to say. Or maybe it's just my way of getting my opinion out there.

Or it could be my message, here, to anybody else who feels like nothing is working for them.

Odds are you didn't read everything here. You might have skimmed, or just skipped to the bottom here, but no matter what, I hope you remember this:

**Don't be scared of failure. Don't be afraid of being made fun of, or ignored. Because no matter how much dedication you put into something, no matter how much of your life's effort you want to put into it, it will not be a smooth ride. There will be failure. You will fail, or hit rock bottom. But it's not a reason to give up. Once you've hit the bottom, there's nothing worse waiting for you. Don't give up on your dream. Hopefully, your dreams don't suck up your life like mine do. But don't let a failure destroy it. Build off of it. Let your imagination bring your dream to new heights. **

Make it your story. This is my story.

What's yours?


End file.
